Just Below the Surface: An Adeptus Arbites Story
by BladeMasterWolf
Summary: "They decide the guilty, they decide the punishment." The creed of the Adeptus Arbites, the police, jury and executioner of the Imperium's vast hives. On the hive world of Tercius, the Tercian Arbites will face a threat they never have before.
1. Author's Note

Hi, I am BladeMasterWolf, and this will be my first major outing in the land of storytelling.

I decided to do a story around the Adeptus Arbites as I liked the feel of them, I know that is a weird reason but roll with it please.

I suppose a better first choice would be Space Marines or even the Imperial Guard, both of whom I own table-top armies for, but I was drawn to the Arbites. They seem to be Judge Dredd in the year 40,000 so to speak. They are sometimes all that holds the Imperium from collapsing in on itself from within while the vast armies of the Imperial Guard and the magnificent Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes hold the line against the enigmatic Eldar, the brutish Orks, the young Tau, the ravenous Tyranids, and against the thrice-damned Traitor Legions with their human thralls and the ruinous powers of the Warp.

As for this story, I started it a year ago on the Warseer forums, where I still update it, but after a little goading, I have decided to post it up here, as to gather some more feedback.

As I stated, this was started a year ago and all I have done is collate the myriad posts into 'proper' chapters. This side will be updated a little slower as I will allow the other site to build up before creating a larger post for here.

As for story quality, I know my writing in the beginning is... how to say... not up to standards, but I hope you'll agree, it gets better as I write more and more. I have gone through briefly and corrected some of the most glaring mistakes but of course I will have probably missed a few.

Thank you for having a look at a young man's fledgling story and I hope I entertain you.

To those of you coming from Warseer, Hi, BladeWolf here, I tend to lurk around the Stories and Art area.

And so, here I go forth into this most strange of realms, please be nice.


	2. Introduction

Tercius, a hive world in the Segmentum Tempestus, in the Oreidium Sector of the galaxy and under the holy watch of the Adeptus Terra and the mighty Immortal Emperor of Man. Is like most other Hive Worlds in the Imperium of Man. High habitation spires stab into the smog choked skies and The Adeptus Mechanicus manufactoriam churn out the war machines for the Imperial Guard and the many, varied and lethal arms of the Departmento Munitorum.

Billions upon billions reside in the mighty hives that dot the continents. Upon the surface of Tercius there are eighteen such hives, the primary export is man-power, bodies for the eternal war machine of mankind, workers to mine the deep pits, to stoke the fires and the like. Some of these people will go on to be great soldiers in the Imperial Guard or the Planetary Defence force. They could become numbered among the great Magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus, they could even be governors of their own planets should they work hard enough for it. Even one may be chosen to serve in the most elite order of warriors, the Adeptus Astartes, the Emperor's Angels of Death. But to think of the probability of such a thing is ludicrous.

But this is not to say that the universe is their oyster, it is a harsh, cold time to be alive, it is the Forty-First Millennium. Forget the promise of science and the understanding of your fellow man, in these times only the strong survive and the weak are either slaves or worse. Mankind is beset by aliens, traitors and heretics. The armies of man wage an unwinnable war against the myriad foes that would rape and burn the worlds of the Emperor, to whom a single human life is nothing but a number to be erased in a tide of fire and death. To be alive in such times is be one among unnumbered trillions. Your passing won't be remembered or mourned, for the tides of blood rise and fall with each passing day washing away thousands of lives. For each enemy without there are a hundred within, cruel, cold organisations mercilessly purge thousands to kill a single man, all in the name of faith.

It is up to the men and women of the Adeptus Arbites to ensure peace and law is maintained among the general populace. They decide the guilty, they determine the punishment.

In the grim darkness of the far future there is only war.


	3. Quiet Beginnings

"Patrol Two-Three entering area six mid-level five." Arbitrator Thall spoke into his armour's vox as he and his partner indeed moved into the new area. He and Cairn walked through the hive as they had on their route for the past three months. The great mid-level of the Hive Lucius was almost as large as an old terran city, effectively that was what it was, a city within a greater city. The ceiling of the level was more than enough for a scout titan to stand without kneeling. The hab-blocks were sandwiched together to create the normal living conditions for the normal people of this level, they were not the unruly scum of the underhive nor where they highborn of the upper spires. Thall liked these people, they got up, they ate, they worked, they prayed, they paid their tithes and above all, they obeyed the law.

The Arbites patrol team walked the pavements of the hive; watching the people and ensuring the lawfulness of the hive.

Cairn waved a simple salute to the oncoming patrol team. They returned the gesture as they approached, the two looked bored, a good sign.

"Much to report?" Thall asked hopefully. The opposite two shrugged "Eleven to twelve youths on 13th and Main, possible cause of a minor civil nuisance, none look over six and ten years." Cadet Davis sighed. "Anything from your end?"

Thall sighed heavily "Rush hour, lotta' people in a hurry to get home tonight"

Davis' partner and observer during his training, Arbitrator Farrell turned to the two with a lit Iho-stick in his mouth. "Can't say I blame them, big game tonight, I would love to see how the season ends."

Cairn laughed with his fellow Arbitrator, "Maybe Provost Krael will let us record the pict-cast"

This sent the other Arbitrator in further laughter. "He's too busy organising a marching band for our visitor"

Thall sighed, it was true the big-wig from the Segmentum Solar had sent a wave of near-hysteria throughout the entire planet's government and of course the locals had absolutely no idea what was going on.

Thall began moving forward with Cairn in tow. "Keep a lookout" he waved over his shoulder. The other patrol returned their route.

The two moved on by foot, usually not a problem on the mid-levels for the Arbites as it helped with their image as law-enforcers, it presented a clean, strong face of Imperial authority.

In the lower levels then it was considered dangerous to your health to go down there in anything short of a Repressor. The upper-levels didn't like the image of the dark armoured figures wandering their pristine streets and therefore the Arbites remained in their squad vehicles while on patrol. But Thall and Cairn didn't mind the walk on the mid-level, the air was clean, the people where nice and the lack of crime was change of pace after pulling underhive duty.

They made their way down the main road of the area, of the entire level even. The same beat they had walked for three months, past the same hab-blocks, the same shrine manned by the same smiling priest who delivers the same blessing on the two. The same groceries store...

Thall sighed; he loved being on mid-level patrol but sometimes the sheer monotony sometimes got to him. Most Arbites were taught not to get too attached to the people they policed, but the Tercius Arbites could expect to be here for the next ten millenniums at least. While they still didn't recruit from the general populace, the recruits that were drafted into the Tercius Arbites soon began to think of the place as their home. Taking a page from the book of the Imperial Guard, staying in the precinct and aloof only worked when you were moving every few decades but due to the permanent nature, soon even the marshal grew bored and allowed his footmen to wander the nearby grounds on their free time. Over the intervening centuries and eventual millennia this spread to the entirety of the hives. The Council of Judges had allowed the practise to continue as it seemed to lower the average crime rate of the planet.

"You read this morning's _clips_?" Cairn asked as the two sauntered on. The clips referred to the newsfeeds and headlines along with reports from the patrol units that gave the Adeptus Arbites and the Planetary governing council an overview of the current situation of the hive.

"I took a glance, didn't you?" Thall returned as he watched a couple moving along the opposite road with an eye honed by years of experience.

Cairn chuckled innocently "I maybe got up a little late and had to rush to meet you." He received a disapproving glance from his partner. Thall shook his head and continued his walk.

"Things are getting worse in the underhive; the Governor has asked the PDF commanders to stand ready for suppression actions." Thall muttered with almost disgust. While gang violence was indeed terrible, if the PDF rolled in then thousands of innocents would be slaughtered in the crossfire.

Cairn hummed his distaste. "Anything nice today?" he asked.

Thall looked to him with a look that told Cairn everything he needed to know for that question.

Thall continued as they walked "The Bowl planetary finals are tonight, not that we get to see it." He semi-moaned, "If the Provost is feeling rather nice, we may get to hob-nob with some big-wigs." The Arbitrator shrugged "Like that gonna-"

The Arbitrator stopped as something caught his eye.

Thall groaned "Youths, there" he pointed a finger further down the street. Two large groups facing towards each other, and the two biggest going at it to the sounds of their friends cheering, the fight was spilling out into the main road, luckily there were no ground-cars coming. The two looked like they were really going at it, even at this distance Thall could make out the red markings on their faces.

Thall began to sprint towards them, the pistol stayed in its holster for the time being, Cairn followed, the smirk from earlier lost as a wave of seriousness fell across the two.

As Thall approached he started to make out individual marks, each boy and girl had a ribbon, cloth or some sort of clothing that set them apart from the other group. One group wore purple or blue predominately while the others had red.

Thall broke through the outer perimeter of the children and got right to the two fighting. The carapace armour alone was enough to ensure that no one tried to stop him. The Arbites helmet struck fear and obedience into those who got a good look at the two.

"Break it up!" Thall roared as he gripped both combatants and pulled the two apart. With a deft gesture the Arbite threw both to the ground away from each other.

"Now that's over" Cairn subvocalised as he pulled his Illuminator from his waist, "Hands!" He bellowed and the youths obeyed, showing the Arbitrator the backs of their hands. Cairn swung the illuminator over the small forest of hands; it was shaped like a standard torchlight but gave of no visible light when activated.

"No previous crimes" Cairn said as he finished his sweep. It was standard practice on Tercius to brand all criminals with special tattoos that only showed up under an illuminator beam. It made on-the-spot judgements a lot simpler, primarily it found use in the underhive but it helped on all levels equally.

Thall hoisted both of the two fighting boys to their feet where they looked suitably upset and shy. Thall noted that the boy with a purple headband also had incredibly pale skin, not unusual for hive-children but compared to the others in the group he was definitely in need of sometime in the UV areas.

Thall looked the two boys over slowly and carefully, accentuating every action in order to scare the two more. "No previous crimes" he repeated slowly and loudly. He locked each boy with a glare that froze most perps dead in their tracks. Thall grumbled something as he made an obvious gesture to rest his hand on his marker, a glorified spray gun that applied the crime-tattoo. He had no intention of booking the boys when clearly this was nothing more than an argument that got out of hand.

"You want this to your first?" Thall asked menacingly, modulating his voice to be like gravel, Cairn couldn't help but smile; it was his Sergeant Bale impression. The two youths shook visibly, the severity of the situation started overwhelming the adrenaline from the fight.

"No sir" the two whimpered. Thall stood tall with his fists on his hips with a frown he had practised for his impression. "I thought so" Thall grimaced.

Thall looked over his shoulder to his partner, Cairn shrugged, neither one of them really wanted to haul two dozen kids down to the precinct nor did they think that they deserved it.

Thall looked to the two each in turn, he pointed to the pale one. "You and your friends will walk that way" he pointed behind them after which he turned to the other boy "You and your friends will go that way" He pointed the opposite direction to the purples. The reds nodded.

"Either of you take a step back towards each other and I will personally haul you down to precinct for inciting civil violence. You understand?" Thall said plainly, the two boys' nodded "Yes sir" they uttered. "Yes what?" Thall voiced with an air of authority. "Yes Arbitrator" they said louder. Thall nodded and waved both groups on their way.

As ordered the groups went their separate ways with the two brawlers walking away with their tails between their legs. Thall smiled, he liked solving crime without having to brutalise someone.

Cairn moved to Thall's side as he watched the youths go. "Inciting civil violence?" He asked as he patted his comrade on the shoulder. "You weren't really gonna' arrest them were ya?" Cairn asked incredulously. Thall shook his head "Nah, they're just kids"

Cairn turned to his partner "You see those colours? They aren't the bowl team colours" Thall nodded solemnly. "Ya, but I don't remember seeing any hive-gang using those colours."

Cairn snorted "Let's just hope it's a fad those kids are going through." Thall nodded again.

Cairn lightly punched Thall on his arm "Come on, we have another two areas to patrol"

As Thall moved alongside the main road he started thinking. Red and purple, what could it mean.

They wandered on through the heart of the level. Each hive level was roughly divided into eight sections radiating around a central tower which doubled as a mass-elevator. It was also the primary way of transport between the three mid-levels. Levels one and two were loading docks that lead to and from the myriad foundries and factoriums. The nearby area around the hive was filled with such areas.

Thall and Cairn moved in silence, Thall pondering the implications of children in gangs on the mid-level. The two stood at a junction. Waiting for the signals to alternate to allow the passage of the two, not that the ground-cars wouldn't stop if the Arbites merely walked over the road, but is was advised the obey the road-laws as to limit accidents and waste of Arbite time.

The armour's vox crackled into life "All units all units, Section 22A on Namkain block, mid-level 5, all nearby units respond, multiple suspects, they are armed and dangerous, Cadet and Arbite wounded, proceed with caution."

Cairn turned "That's us, let's go!" He tapped the transmit button on his armour. "Patrol Two-three responding, ETA five minutes"

Thall followed diligently, Namkain block was only a short sprint away in area four. As they ran they could hear the sounds of rising violence. The distinctive crack of las-fire told the two a lot about their opponents. The sounds of the lasguns were intermixed with the roar of auto-weapons, probably rifles but he could hear the tell tale sounds of a handful of stub-guns.

Cairn was few steps ahead when they rounded the corner into the danger area.

"Frak!" Cairn shouted as he darted back around the corner a instant later, the pitter patter of auto-rounds danced up the pavement next to him.

"You get eyes on the shooter?" Thall asked as he pulled his laspistol from its holster silently wishing he'd brought his shotgun. But three months of not being shot at did that to a person.

"Nope, but I saw the wounded, its Davies and Farrell, idiots look like they walked right into the middle of it." The Arbitrator breathed as he also brought his pistol from his holster.

Thall edged his eye around the ceremite corner very slowly. The roar of battle meant that it wasn't just them they were shooting at. Indeed it seemed the entire block was bristling with weapons, all firing at the block opposite who in turn was returning fire.

"Block war" Thall grumbled.

"Block War?" Cairn asked in a confused tone "On a mid-level?"

"Not the first time Underhiver scum made their way up the mid'" Thall sighed as he started to analyse the myriad ways of getting to the two downed Arbites. Not many, was his answer.

"With me" Thall said quickly as he crouched, went round into the miniature warzone and made a bee-line to a relatively undamaged ground-car. The two blocks were more interested in each other then two black-armoured specks cowering behind what little cover they could find.

"What's it with you and trying to get me killed?" Cairn hissed as he sided with Thall "First you talk me into fighting most of underhive pretty much single-handedly, now you drag me into a block war! This was going to be my four months of peace." Thall just glanced at his partner of ten years.

"Reason one; we're Arbites, this is what we do. Reason two, what fun is peace?" Thall half-grinned as he darted from cover again.

"Fun as in not getting shot at" Cairn fumed as he followed diligently.

"You were all gung-ho a minute ago, what changed?" Thall asked as the two dived behind a more wrecked ground-car, the windows and engine-block had been riddled with rounds.

"I remembered I'm deathly allergic to bullets and las-bolts." Cairn complained as the car shuddered under another cursory burst of gunfire. "That's another thing, how did they get lasguns?" He swore as he rose to a kneel.

Thall shrugged as he thought about that issue himself. But it was definitely over the heads of the two Arbitrators to try and bring order to this mini-war. The sheer volume of fire effectively demanded a full combat team. He clicked the vox open. "This is Patrol Two-Three, requesting back-up at Namkain block, we have a code 34." He radioed with mild annoyance.

Meanwhile half-way across the level, an Arbites bike growled as the engine sparked into life.

Thall took another pot-shot at a gunner with a Heavy Stubber but again the shot just went wide, the return barrage from the gunner followed shortly and Thall ducked down with a grimace. Cairn had rolled out to a small door-alcove and had started to take shots at the occupants of Namkain block in a desperate ploy to buy time and draw fire away from their two compatriots. Thall swore as one of the stubber bullets ripped cleanly through the tiny cover the ground-car provided and scored a hit on Thall's back, scraping along but not penetrating. Thall dropped to the floor completely and stayed still for a moment, projecting the illusion that the gunner had killed him with that barrage.

While he lay there Thall thought over just how a man, even though he looked like a Catachan, could hold and fire a heavy stubber. Thall decided that the gunner was, among other things probably, some sort of Satrophine-Frenzon cocktail. The gunner was stood out in the open of a second storey window and bellowing at his enemies while firing a usually pintle-mounted weapon standing and with a thick strap over his shoulder and a great belt of ammunition sprawling out of the thing. How the recoil didn't tear his arms off was beyond Thall at this point.

Thall counted to six before giving a quick prayer to Him and standing valiantly, his laspistol swinging up with him. Thall had the Heavy Stubber gunner in his sights within a second. The gunner saw him too and started to drag his monstrous weapon back towards him. Thall snapped out a defiant shot an instant before the other man. The short sharp crack echoed in Thall's ears as his heart held itself still for a moment, if he missed this was 'it'.

But the Emperor was watching him today as the shot flew true. The crimson laser penetrated through the thick grox-hide strap and into the huge muscle bound chest of the gunner. Dropping him like a puppet with its strings cut. It was almost humorous to see the big, brave, admittedly stupid man to fall so easily.

The body fell from the window and went straight down, landing with a wet thud. Thall smirked as he ducked behind cover, the bigger they are he recited, the harder they fall.

Cairn picked out another man with accurate las-fire and added him to his tally. From his position he could see the extent of the fighting. Two entire hab-blocks each as tall as they were deep, almost fifty storeys each and housing almost two hundred families apiece, gripped in this violent hysteria. Cairn scowled for a moment as he turned his eyes skyward. He could see the muzzle flashes of gunfire on the fortieth floor. He shook his head, this kind of thing happened on the underhive not here. Cairn pulled the depleted clip from his weapon and slapped home another. Something was going on here. He thought to himself, he was going to find out what.


	4. Block War

Thall watched with intense tension as Cairn changed position; the people in Namkain block had figured out his position and had started to pour fire into the alcove. A few bullets scraped off his armour but nothing much. Cairn dived into a roll as the ground around him sparked. He ended his roll next Thall, into the firing line of Feynman block but out of the line of attack for Namkain block.

Thall tapped his armour vox. "Farrell, you still alive?" He waited a moment before the reply came back. "Yea" the arbitrator groaned, "I'm holding my guts in but I'll live".

Thall grinned as he heard the slight humour in his voice. "Hold on there, Medical teams are on their way." Thall assured him. Cairn looked over the hood of the ground-car, luckily their attention span lasted as long as their ammo clip the way they were fighting.

The growl of a combat bike entered the two's ears.

"Thank Him above, reinforcements" Cairn grinned. He rose slightly to catch a sight of the newcomers. He was swiftly pulled back down by Thall.

Thall looked slightly apprehensive as he listened to the sound "Only one engine." He looked to Cairn "Unless it's an Astartes I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you, but keep praying."

"But any back-up is good back-up, right?" Cairn protested for a moment before he caught sight of said reinforcement "Oh frak." He sighed a moment latter. Thall stuck his head over the parapet for a moment to see who had just pulled up, for a split second he actually hoped it was an Astartes.

A figure clad in thick black plates of armaplas and ceremite swung his leg off the saddle of the bike. The Imperial Eagle was displayed prominently on his left shoulder. His face was locked permanently in a scowl. He looked around at the two blocks with contempt before he stepped forward, advancing on the two Arbitrators.

"It would be Bale" Cairn groaned. Sergeant Bale was considered the most fearsome Arbite in the Hive Lucius precinct. A former Combat Team leader until he was promoted out to Sergeant. Noted for his taciturn, hardline and stoic personality.

Bale stood over the two with a disappointed look, but then again, his face never seemed to change. He stood with his fists on his hips just like Thall's impression. He was completely unfazed by the hectic gunfire or the slight pitter-patter of rounds landing around him.

"They are using autoguns firing twenty millimetre case less rounds with a listed lethal range of two hundred metres." Bale took another cursory glance upwards. "The majority of gunners are at three hundred metres" he looked back to the two "And the lower gunners are too busy shooting each other to care about you" He leaned forward "So why are you hiding Arbitrators?"

Thall stood "Waiting for back-up" he said determinedly. Bale locked him with a soul-testing glare "It's here" He growled before turning and moved back to his bike.

Cairn followed at his shoulder "They are also using lasguns as well sir." Bale turned and rapped his knuckle on Cairn's Carapace armour. "Your armour is can withstand more than a simple las-bolt, and they don't strike me as Imperial Guard marksmen, do they to you?" He retorted simply as he reached Davies and Farrell.

Bale stood over the wounded Arbitrator. Thall could see the wound that afflicted him. It seemed as if a stubber round had managed unluckily to penetrate the armour and embed itself into the soft belly of the Arbite. Farrell still had a smile on his face as his other hand clutched a laspistol. "Morning Sarge" he strained. Bale looked him over, "Medical teams are en route, remain stationary." Bale turned to the Cadet who, while wounded, remained mobile. Davies only had a bloody crease across his left arm. Cadets were issued flak armour similar to the local PDF. "Arbitrator Farrell, I will be borrowing your Cadet" He said quite plainly. Farrell spluttered out a laugh, "Of course sergeant, take him all you want".

Bale activated his armour's vox with a deft gesture. Thall could hear the vox-caster on the bike cough a burst of static. Bale turned his head back up to the warring blocks.

Bale bellowed "I am the law!" He took a moment to look at each block in turn. "Drop your weapons!" he ordered and to his credit, some of the perpetrators did indeed cease firing, whether due to Bale or to reload was unknown. "These blocks, are under arrest!" Bale shouted to finish off.

Sergeant Bale waved the three mobile Arbites to follow him towards Namkain block. Thall and Cairn exchanged a worried glance, three Arbites and a Cadet storming a building. Not exactly text book.

"Cadet Davies" Bale said "How would you enter this building?" Bale pointed towards a set of heavy doors that acted as the entrance to Namkain ground floor. Davies sharply responded "A form of directional explosive, a breaching charge or even a grenade wedge under the handles sir"

Bale reached to his holster and unbuttoned it before yanking free his sidearm. Bale turned and looked to Davies, showing him his bolt pistol, Davies nodded eagerly "That would work sir. That would definitely work". Bale turned the weapon on the door. A short sharp bang followed swiftly. The doors burst open in a scream of tortured metal.

Bale entered through the wrecked entrance. "Sweep and clear, rendezvous on the fortieth floor" he ordered harshly.

Thall and Cairn stood on either side of a rusted metal doorway. The sound on auto-fire boomed from within. Davies was stood a few metres back behind Cairn and Sergeant Bale was no longer with them. He had been last seen taking the stairs three at a time and kicking in a door shouting "He who is without sin on his knees!" and then repeated bolt pistol shots. The two Arbitrators let him do as he wanted.

Thall checked his laspistol for what felt like the ninth time since they entered the building; the first few floors offered relatively little resistance. Only a few stragglers and wounded as the rest all went higher in search of more targets. From floor twenty onwards however, things got hairy.

Thall signed to Cairn; 'on three' he mimed. Those three seconds passed slowly as the two prepared, Davies was tasked with watching the corridor.

"Three!" Thall called as his boot collided with the metal. It yielded easily and was almost torn from its hinges. "Adeptus Arbites! Drop your weapons!" He shouted as he entered with his pistol raised, he already knew their response.

As one ten pairs of eyes turned along with their weapons, ranging from small automatic stub guns to a lasgun. Cairn shot first, the crimson beam passing unperturbed through the lasgun wielding thug's cranium. Thall followed it with a second, with the biggest threat out of the way. They started to pacify the others. The Arbites usually tried for wound-shots, to disable their opponents to facilitate interrogation. But these thugs just didn't stop as the openly bleeding wound on Thall's abdomen reminded him.

The Laspistols slew the second and third gunners just as quickly but the others by then had time to regain their wits. A stocky yet clearly weathered man brought his simple stubber to bear on Thall. Thall could see the cold hatred in his eyes as the weapon barked. The Carapace armour saved him as the simple bullets danced across its surface but Thall felt the wind driven from him because of the kinetic power the bullets imparted. He fell backwards as another burst of proper autogun fire attacked into his flank. As he fell Thall instinctively drew his vambraces in front of his exposed mouth and eyes, the simple visor didn't stop bullets as easily as sun glare. Cairn dived out of the way, firing as he did.

Thall landed with a thud, the armour thankfully absorbing the impact. He fired blindly towards where he thought the shots were coming from. A resulting cry of anguish proved him right.

For Cairn it was a shooting gallery, all their makeshift cover and barricades had been facing the opposing block, so now they were scattering and shouting looking for a relief from the accurate Arbites fire. Cairn gave them relief, perhaps not the kind they were looking for.

"Room pacified" Cairn said after putting the last perpetrator down with a clean shot through the chest. Her finger tightened around the trigger as she died causing the magazine to empty into a nearby wall.

Thall dragged himself to his feet; Cairn was already checking the downed suspects. Outside the window the cacophony of the Arbite Rhino Armoured Transports became apparent. The combat teams had arrived. Thall moved to the window and cast his gaze downwards. He would have been galled years ago by their methods but as of the throbbing pain in his lower body, frak 'em he thought.

"Next time we shoot them from the doorway" Thall moaned as he checked his laspistol.

Thall watched as several Arbite squads piled out into the street armed with Arbite shotguns and other assorted weapons. From where Thall was stood of the thirtieth floor, he could make out a few bolters along with lasguns for the Cadets who arrived a moment later in their Chimera APCs.

Several Arbites stood across the street and rose what looked to be grenade launchers. They unleashed hell. They poured photon-flash and take-down grenades into the lower windows with reckless abandon. The Rhino gunners raked the front of Feynman block with mass-reactive shells. The turret mounted multi-lasers of the Chimera watched the street for any stragglers.

Thall allowed himself a slight sigh as he saw the medical team pull Farrell away on a stretcher into the specifically marked 'Doc-Wagon' or a Rhino with assorted life-saving equipment.

He started to watch the assault but he was called away by a sudden shout from Davies. The two Arbitrators turned as one and started to move towards the errant sound of gunfire.

Thall and Cairn exited into the hall to see Davies stumble backwards with a pained howl. Thall looked down the corridor to see a bulky heavy set man stood tall, in his grip was a raggedy looking shotgun. The man was nigh-on frothing at the mouth and his eyes full of rage.

The man pumped the shotgun and growled as he targeted the two arbites. Cairn pushed Thall back into the room as he threw himself to the ground.

This resulted in a semi-roar from the clearly drugged man. Cairn crouched and barrelled into the simple door on the opposite side of the hall way. A second shot skimmed the sole of Cairn's boot as he rolled out of harm's way.

Thall leaned out of the relative safety of the room to take aim. Two crimson bolts flickered into the offender. He bore them with a feral grin. Thall was stood in shock for a moment. That moment almost cost him his life. A split second longer and he would probably be down a head. Thall retreated back inside as another hail of shards whipped past.

Cairn mirrored Thall's previous attack and fire two shots into the hulking meaty chest of the thug, the two arbitrators shared a glance as again the beast spat a curse but was still standing.

"What's this guy on?" Cairn yelled across to his partner. Thall shrugged before popping out for another attempt at killing this thing.

Cairn tried at the same time, only to see the hulking warrior make a bee-line across to Thall, who was completely taken unawares by the attack. The mass of the impact was negated by the Carapace armour but Thall was still thrown backwards with a definite thump.

Davies, who up to this point had been dazed by the close range shotgun blast, rolled onto his stomach and started to unleash repeated las-bolts into the beast-man. The man just growled and howled as Cairn joined it.

Thall was almost crushed by the mass of muscle that rammed into him, it didn't help that he was still effectively underneath the man as he started to wail on him with repeated blows from the meaty fists; it seemed the shotgun the thing had been holding had either run out of ammo or had jammed.

Thall started desperately blocking the attack with a lone vambrace while still struggling to bring his own las-pistol to bear on his attacker.

Thall could hear the crack of his fellow's laspistols as they let loose on the back of the thug. Thall could feel the blows become weaker and weaker; it seemed the superman had his limits. The enraged howls soon became exhausted rasps and eventually silence. The rage Thall had seen was still very much alive in his eyes but clearly the body could not keep up with the mind in terms of energy.

Thall jammed his laspistol under the chin on the still attacking muscle man. Who while weak wasn't dead yet. "Attacking an Arbite with lethal intent" Thall growled through gritted teeth "Sentence. Death" He judged with the resounding crack of his pistol. The single beam passed cleanly through the bone and flesh, leaving the head more of less intact as the magenta beam passed through the cranium.

The body dropped down easily at Thall's feet. He sighed heavily as he stepped over the corpse. "Why is it always me that falls over?" He mock-whined while pulling Davies to his feet and inspecting where the Cadet had been hit, "Seems the armour took the brunt of it" Cairn patted Davies on the back "You'll be fine". Cairn cast a view to the corpse of their giant attacker.

"Thall" He said in a sad tone and flicked his hand towards what he wanted his partner to see. The purple arm band the thug wore. Thall swore silently. Cairn took a cursory look back into the cleared room. He shook his head. They all wore purple or blue rags.

Davies looked quickly between the two with a confused look. Thall turned to the Cadet and waved away any confusion "I'll explain back at the precinct" the Cadet nodded obediently and followed the lead of Thall as he led them to the stair way. They had just finished clearing this floor, up to the fortieth.

The three Arbites pounded up the stairs taking them two or three at a time. Cairn was on point with his eyes darting around looking for targets but more likely downs perps'. Bale had gone up ahead of the others to speed up the clearing process and therefore had been a little higher than the others. For about seven floors all they found was clips, casings and corpses and a luminous green mark of the wall which was Arbite for 'Area pacified on sweep' and it meant that the Sergeant had passed through the area.

Cairn crashed through a door at the top of the stairs with a shoulder barge. Thall was through a second later. Davies followed a little more conservatively due to fact he was reminded that he didn't have as thick armour as the others.

Cairn stopped mid charge by a red light that blinded him through his visor. He tried to swat at it as if it were a fly-bug. The growl afterwards informed him that the light was a laser-sight. Cairn flicked his head out of the light to see that he was staring down the barrel of a bolt pistol.

"Cairn" Bale growled as he disengaged his aim. "There is only one room on this floor." Bale indicated the door with a nod. "Penthouse suite" Davies remarked smartly to only receive a sharp glance from the grizzled sergeant. "Good observation Cadet" Bale complimented "But such observations are unnecessary in this situation." Davies nodded obediently as if taking a lesson from schola tutor.

The entrance to the penthouse was a large pair of double doors. Penthouse may have been a misnomer as it really wasn't high-class but it referred to the highest and largest room in the block.

Thall and Cairn moved to each side of the doors and started to test the handles. Cairn gave the sergeant the thumbs up followed by Thall. The doors were unlocked. Bale nodded as he checked his bolt pistol. Davies stood behind Thall with his weapon ready.

Bale stood perhaps in the stupidest position, directly in the middle of the doorway. Cairn rolled his eyes behind his visor but kept his comments to himself, Bale was playing up the 'invincible Arbite image'. He glanced to Thall with a nod. They raised their laspistols ready for the inevitable order.

"Arbites" Bale started "On my order" The tension rose as the sound of gunfire on the other side of the door. "Bring order and justice" he growled and it was done.

The two doors burst open and the Arbites entered, Bale bellowed out as he entered his usual line "He who is without sin on his knees!"

Thall was taken aback for a nanosecond as he checked out his new battle area. The windows were massive panoramic plane glass windows, most of which were shot out by the twenty or so gangers that were stood up against the windows behind knocked over coffee tables, couches along with other pieces of furniture from the surprisingly-well furnished penthouse. This time however there was more cover then the previous room they had previously busted in to. Thall immediately dived behind a unmoved furred couch. He rolled to his knees and immediately popped up laying the laspistol across the soft top. He tapped off a set of shots into the turning mob of civil-rebels.

A cloaked woman rolled next to what seemed like luxurious bed for a mid-level accommodation. She popped up over the top of it and sprayed towards Thall, the autogun rounds punched through the soft fabric but luckily the shots skipped off Thall's shoulder armour but the others went wide.

Another woman in a simple administratum drone-robe turned towards the group with a lasgun in her grip. She fired the weapon in a wide arc of crimson light before ducking behind a toppled table. The shots danced in between the majority of the Arbites. A small clump of shots dispersed on the black plates of the sergeant who returned the favour. The wooden table turned into the splinters and the woman was thrown to the ground, she grunted before the second bolt punched into her back in a display of gore.

Davies kneeled next to Thall as another brace of stubgun rounds flew over their heads. Thall popped up and fired at the autogun wielding woman. A magenta beam speared across the flesh of her cheek, wounding but not killing the victim. She cried out and was sent to the floor clutching the wound. The sudden enfilade fire from a stubber forced Thall further down. Bale brought the ever-deadly bolt pistol around and trained it on the gunner, but a sudden barrage forced him back.

Bale rolled backwards behind a fallen wardrobe. The small calibre rounds embedded themselves into the expensive wood. Bale grunted as a few shot plinked off his helmet. The bolt pistol returned the favour. It punched cleanly through the simple headboard the gunner was taking cover behind.

"Why don't they give us those" Cairn moaned under his breath as Bale picked off the gunners with ease. The grim efficiently of the veteran Arbite contrasted with the obvious inexperience of the young Davies, who fired repeatedly at a single opponent whereas Bale took single shots.

Cairn was easily the most accurate of the arbites; he trained his shots and followed a single target at once unlike his partner who had the unfortunate habit to attempting to juggle multiple targets, which to his credit he had almost refined to an art form.

"Good to see your marksmen skills haven't diminished to much" The voice of Bale growled behind him. Cairn ignored him as he fired a brace into a lasgunner who spent too long in the open.

Thall fell backwards as a autogun round struck him in the side of the head. He dropped and landed with a thud, all sound and feeling retreated from Thall for a moment. All senses failed him for a moment until slowly the feelings returned and his sense of balance stabilised. A cautionary hand moved to the side of his head. He could feel where the bullet hit; he could feel the dent but no penetration. He released a relived sigh, the armour had saved him. He shook away the remaining shock and rose up and fired repeatedly. The once luxurious penthouse was reduced to a mess. The las bolts that flickered between the two groups as well as the various projectiles and the obscene damage the bolt pistol inflicted. The once pristine white walls were repainted crimson by the gunfire.

Despite the hit Thall took the Arbites were definitely coming out on top. The superior training and armour put them ahead of the gunners by far. The gunners however had a definite upper hand in the sheer amount of firepower they could pump out. The autoguns and stubber fired with reckless abandon and complete disregard for any sort of aiming. Another administratum drone with a large autogun blared away on full auto towards Cairn and Bale. His starch white skin shone through the deep red robe of his order. Thall showed him the error of his ways with a single las bolt to the chin.

Thall rolled from cover as what was left of the couch evaporated under the withering fire.

He landed next to the massive bed. Thall threw himself on his stomach and low and behold, he could see the feet of some of the pseudo-gangers. With expert accuracy he placed a single les bolt in about three of them before the tell tale sound told him that one of the said gun wielding crazies was rounding the headboard, or the remains of it, to kill him. Thall whipped his pistol up as he gazed down the barrel of an autogun. Thall unconsciously swallowed, he pulled the trigger as fast as he could only to receive a cough and a splutter from the pistol. Empty.

The crazy dropped suddenly as three las bolts punched into his chest. Thall blinked, he hadn't fired. He whipped his around to see Davies stood tall in the middle of the firestorm with a smoking gun in his grip. Thall chuckled as he pulled himself to his feet, the weight of the armour hindering him only slightly.

"Thank you" Thall mouthed to the Cadet who nodded like he always did. Thall reached down, grabbing the autogun from the dead gunner. The weight was definitely different form the simple distinctive weight of the laspistol. He gripped the handle solidly and pulled it to shoulder. Thall had a sudden feeling of nostalgia. He breathed deep before whipping up over the quilted parapet and training the rifle on the nearest gunner. A millisecond later the head of the ganger was devastated by a short, sharp burst of fire. The kick of the rifle was rebuffed comfortably by Thall. He swung the rifle across the enemy gun line. The weapon barked again and shredded a simple man in simple worker's overall holding a micro-stubber. The autogun felt familiar in the hands of Thall. He breathed in short, sharp breaths, mirroring the weapon he held.

Another prolonged burst into another lasgun wielding thug and the weapon ran dry. Thall threw it forward and it bounced on the mattress. Thall crouched as he retrieved his laspistol and ripped the empty cartridge from the well and slapped home another, his last.

The bolt pistol barked harshly as it started to pick off the remaining ganger. Sergeant Bale was unharmed throughout the fire fight save the few rounds that had dispersed or bounced off the armour. He growled as he put a bolt through a stubber and into the man firing it. The crack of Cairn's laspistol declared the finale to the short, one-sided battle as it sent a rather big man sprawling out of the broken windows with a shot to the chest.

"Good shooting. But I've seen better from you Arbitrator Cairn" Bale grunted as he reloaded. In the end he had expended twelve bolts.

Davies started breathing heavily, in the midst of the battle all sense of self-preservation had vanished from him and he had stood unafraid in the face of enemy fire. He almost puked when the sudden realisation that had been seconds from an idiotic death hit him but a stern hard clap on the shoulder stopped him mid-heave.

"Good work Cadet" Thall breathed as he passed him. "You did well today"

"It's a shame I can't say the same for the rest of you" came a voice from the doors, almost as one the Arbites span with their weapons levelled.

"My my, is that how you greet a superior officer?" A black-cloaked woman half-mocked.

"Detective Calamar" Bale growled as she entered after they lowered their weapons. "Good afternoon Bale" she responded as she glided in, the cloak sticking to her figure like fine mist. "Blood bath as usual eh?" She asked pointedly.

"They resisted arrest" Bale responded in an official tone. "They _always_ resist arrest don't they" she said with an annoyed look and a raised eyebrow towards the grizzled sergeant who just stared back. "Once, Bale, just once could you leave me someone alive enough to interrogate."

Felicia Calamar was one of Lucius Precinct's top investigators. She was like most Detectives in the Adeptus Arbites, a psyker, a low level one but a psyker nonetheless. Her fine cloak hid her pale skin and blue eyes. Thall could see wisps of blonde hair appear form under the hood as she cast her glance around and he attempted to control his thoughts. She smiled slyly as she looked at him, he had failed. They didn't call her the Lucius Angel just because of her insights and investigative skills.

Sergeant Bale turned away from the Detective to look at Arbitrator Cairn. "Your marksmen skills are slacking, you should practice more" He said in his usual grunt. "Oh let the boy go" Felicia sighed "He escaped you, leave it be" Bale threw her an annoyed glare but she just smiled as if immune to Bale's fearsome reputation. She was above his rank but even the Provost knew of Bale and his methods and respected them accordingly.

The Detective reached forward and flipped a toppled but intact chair over and slumped down into it with one leg crossed over the other, displayed her black, slim grox-hide boots that connected to the rest of the body-glove she wore instead of the normal carapace armour she was issued. The brown grox-hide holsters for her bolt pistols were clearly visible as she sat. She rested her elbows on the armrests and meshed her black gloved fingers after flicking the hood off her head, releasing the golden tidal wave of shoulder length hair. She cast a sideways glance at the bed and shook her head "What a waste", a comment that sent a visible reaction throughout Cairn, Thall and Davies. Bale however remained unchanged, if anything his scowl grew deeper. "Useful for interrogation purposes" she finished which made all the men more uncomfortable, except for Bale of course.

Thall moved away from the two powerhouses of authority and moved to Cairn who was stood over a dead gunner. Thall picked up the gunmetal lasgun and checked it over. He was looking for the stock-seal used to mark the weapon. "PDFA5" he whispered under his breath. "What?" Felicia asked quite sharply to Thall who immediately spooked that the Detective heard him but he continued.

"This weapon came from the fifth planetary defence force armoury Detective." Thall responded in a straight tone. He also noted the purple headbands and other assorted colours on all the combatants but decided to say nothing at that point.

"That's the current PDF staging post outside the hive proper" Davies put forward without thinking, he slapped his hand to his mouth. The Detective was here to deduce things, not him.

"Correct Cadet Davies" Felicia smiled kindly to the teenager-in-uniform. He blushed; this prompted another raised eyebrow and a slightly amused chuckle from the Detective. "For bonus points, can you guess how the weapon got into the hands of a civilian rabble?" she questioned.

Davies looked stunned for a second before saying in a unsure tone. "The sudden influx of troops means higher influx of supplies, in turn the higher chance of theft or..." he stammered before falling silent.

"...or some of the PDF troopers are selling their weapons and replacing them by taking them from the convoys from the Manufactoriam or Departmento Munitorum stockpiles." The Detective finished the Cadet's unfinished hypothesis. "You have a good head on you Cadet" she complemented.

"That's a massive breach of security" Bale half-bellowed "Military equipment falling into the hands of underhivers or other villainous scum."

"But that makes no sense" Thall said as he continued to check the bodies, sure enough almost all the weapons, save the stubbers had come from the PDF armouries. Cairn was using the Illuminator to check each person, so far they were mostly clean, blue and white collar workers with one case of minor sexual harassment between the lot of them, and of course the new assault charge they had all incurred.

Felicia and Bale both turned to Thall who continued "Why sell weapons to the people you may have to fight in a few days?"

"Exactly" Felicia responded with all the previous warmth gone from her voice. "Exactly indeed"


	5. Returning Back

Thall, Cairn and Davies had all hitched a ride from the returning Combat teams after they had cleared the other block, back to precinct. Usually the Arbitrators were assigned to a sector house for the duration of their patrols but those two, along with Bale and quite a lot of Arbites had been asked to return to precinct. Davies was however stationed at the schola in the precinct and therefore had tagged along. Detective Felicia had remained to wait for the forensic and investigative teams.

They had sat in the back of one of the rhinos with the other arbitrators on their way back. They were of course welcomed warmly and offered the spare seats. Combat teams were little more than three or four patrol teams' shoved together and issued boltguns under an experienced Proctor.

"Anything good happen to you guys?" Thall had asked the team on the way 'home'.

"Most of the gangers were armed, incredibly stupid and completely off their fraking faces on whatever they were taking." Arbitrator Gerax laughed "One poor fool tried rushing me with a table leg."

He laughed even more, "Easy pickings" the Arbite next to him finished off and Thall left it, still mulling over the implications of the 'purple gang' on the mid-levels. He silently prayed that the red group was an isolated group.

The ride through the various roadways that linked the levels took about thirty minutes to traverse in the all-terrain armoured combat vehicles until they arrived at their destination, the monument to law and order in the hive, Lucius Precinct. While the main Fortress-Courthouse of Tercius was half-way across the planet in Hive Ferron, it was considered the secondary command centre for the Tercius Arbites.

The Lucius Precinct was situated on mid-level three inside what could be called the 'defended district'. It was home to almost three thousand Arbitrators and their support staff. The Precinct was surrounded by a strong rockrete wall and at each corner of the perimeter stands a drum tower of some fifteen metres tall from ground level to spire. Within it are two Arbitrator guards, usually an off-duty patrol team. One of them operates the turret-mounted assault cannon whilst the other functions as backup or spotter. From this position the Arbitrators have a clear fire arc of the surrounding area. The perimeter wall along the top, from tower to tower, is patrolled by one Arbitrator with a boltgun. After a two hour stint the Arbitrator will be relieved by another from the barracks to continue the patrol. This routine continues incessantly and is something of a religious task.

Thall could see the great gates of the precinct as they started to pull through the street towards the doors; an arbitrator on gate-duty waved them through without much question save looking at the vehicles.

The gatehouse occupied the front of the perimeter wall above the main doors. It consists of two chambers. One chamber is home to two cadets under the watch of a single Arbitrator. It is their job to ensure that, when commanded to, the gates below them are slammed shut. The main chamber functions as an area to pass through and adds a strong defensive position to the perimeter. A section of the floor can be opened to allow defenders to fire down onto any would-be attackers. When under attack Arbitrators can mount a strong defence from this position. The gates are incredibly strong made of reinforced armaplas and can be closed with little effort and aid of the great mechanical devices. However, the gates are always open to promote a fairer face to the Arbites. But should danger threaten, in the form of rioters or ganger attack, they will be immediately shut by the Cadets. Flanking the gates are two Arbitrators who are be ready to meet any visitors along with a handful of tarantula turret lining the road up to the gates.

The rhino peeled away from the main drive to the vehicle bay and dropped the rear ramp allowing Thall, Cairn and Davies to exit. As soon as the three were all clear the machine pulled away easily.

The courtyard was paved with smooth rockrete and Thall could see Menials sweeping meticulously, clearly the Provost was going to provide a good image to the big-wig from the Adeptus Terra. Cadet Davies snapped a salute to the two Arbitrators and turned towards one of the barracks at one end of the courtyard. The two arbitrators returned it as they turned to move to the main doorways into the precinct proper.

The great, grand doors parted easily as the two stepped through in their armour, now heavy with sweat and dirt. Their boots banged and thudded, loosing clumps of bloodied carpet and dirt along the previously spotless floor. Thall was barely aware of one of the menial's groan and his shoulder's slouch. The two drew to a stop at the front desk of the precinct. The Arbitrators passed the queue of civilians each gripping a waiting ticket. The woman on the front desk sighed with relief as Cairn slid in front of a frustrated man who looked on the edge of hysteria.

"Arbitrators, how may I help" she asked with a smile. The man however was not happy. "Wait just a minute here, I've been waiting for two hours to get my car-unclamped and-". Cairn turned with a disarming smile "Don't worry; we'll be out in just a sec". The man quieted but was still clearly unhappy but the shotgun wielding Arbites by the desk stopped him from protesting any further.

"Arbitrators Thall and Cairn, Patrol Two-Three, Provost Krael sent for us" Thall leaned on the desk as the woman tapped away on her cogitator.

She nodded "Yes he did, meeting hall two in two hours" she smiled.

"Thank you" Thall smiled back as he pulled away and indicated for Cairn to follow him. Cairn nodded thankfully as they left. They manoeuvred to the left past the desk towards the door to the Arbite inner area. The Vigile on the door nodded to them as he turned the handle on the simple metal door and pushed it open. The two arbitrators passed through.

As the two wandered down the corridor, passing by uniformed Arbites with a smile and a nod, Cairn removed his helmet as they went and held it under his arm. His thick blonde hair and green eyes where revealed to air for the first time after five hours of patrol and combat, Thall saw the sweat that held to his forehead quite firmly. "Two hours?" Cairn sighed "what to do for two hours?"

"Sounds like a general call in to me" Thall mused, "'Blood Bowl' league final tonight" he shrugged "I would guess riot-prevention and stadium protection?"

Cairn shrugged at that. "Maybe" he conceded.

Cairn turned to Thall after side-stepping a rather hurried looking Cadet. "I'll see you at the meeting hall probably, I got loads of paper work to catch up on" He sighed. Thall nodded "See ya there" He nodded before turning away.

Thall walked the halls of the precinct alone on his way to the prep rooms, Cairn had opted to remain in his armour as he preferred from his days as an Arbite sniper so he was used to sitting still in his armour for hours on end. Thall on the other hand didn't like sitting in the heavy armour. The simple corridors were lined with offices of various departments, each important to the smooth running of the Adeptus Arbites and their endless war against crime.

Thall palmed open the preparation door. The sudden wall of odour and heat assaulted his senses. The noise of the showers roared quietly in the background. Row upon row of lockers and weapon racks lined the room and dozen upon dozen of Arbite meandered around the room in various states of dress, somewhere finishing their shift, some were starting and some where just passing through as a shortcut to the other areas of the precinct.

Thall quickly discovered his locker. He thumbed the unlock rune and after a second a light blinked green and pulled the door open. The sector house held a temporary locker for his equipment whereas the Lucius Precinct was his home base. His trusty shotgun hung by its strap where he had left it two months ago. Thall pulled his helmet free allowing him to remove the gorget and in turn the rest of the armour.

He went about his business as other went to and fro, he shared a word with the occasional one but otherwise he continued unbothered until.

"Arbitrator T-Th-Thall?" a young voice asked. Thall turned to see a rather nervous looking woman in a black robe of the Arbites.

"Yes Marion" Thall said plainly as he changed into his 'normal-office' clothes after cleaning the sweat from the firefight.

Marion Calamar was Lucius Precinct's local resident, she wasn't an official Arbite nor had she passed the test of suitability. She was brought to the Precinct by then Proctor Felicia. She had rescued a young girl from a burning building and brought her back to the precinct to heal her wounds. After several attempts to discover her surviving family failed she was eventually affectively adopted by Felicia and she became part of the Precinct's family. She was three when they found her twelve years ago. This also started the nickname Lucius Angel for Felicia.

"Y-yo-you asked to be k-kept aware of Arbitrator F-Fa-Farrell's condition" She stuttered as she tried to look away.

Thall turned to her and smiled "Yes I did".

"D-d-d-doctor Roffain s-says h-he'll be f-f-fine" She swallowed hard. Thall placed a hand on her shoulder to which her head snapped around and stared at him.

He smiled warmly, "Thank you."

She blushed heavily before retreating quickly from the prep room after saying "Good bye Arbitrator".

Thall shook his head, something had happened to that poor girl that had affected her for the rest of her life. Thall shook his head again; fifteen year old children should have more aspiration then to run messages between departments and personnel.

Thall finished redressing. He felt his stomach rumble in protest; he patted his belly and sighed. He turned and went out to find some food.


	6. Orders

"Arbites" the Provost said to the assembled group as he took to the podium. He was a large, tall man with a shaven head and hard brown eyes. The raven black cloak hung from his shoulders over the silvery metal of the power armour. Upon the breastplate was emblazoned with symbol of the Adeptus Arbites. A great pillar representing strength crossed with a balance representing order and disorder gripped by an iron fist. The wood of the podium seemed tiny in the gauntlets of the Provost.

He looked over the number of proud officers of the law in front of him. He allowed himself a modicum of pride as he formulated his thoughts. Almost three hundred and fifty Arbitrators, Proctors and Sergeants were sat in rows in front of him awaiting his words. An Inspector and his underling Detectives were stood at the back with a look of boredom.

Of to the left of the meeting hall was the Mechanicum detachment attached to the Precinct by the local head of the various manufactoriam. The red-robed Tech-Priest was also surrounded by almost a dozen lesser Enginseers. In a hall where black robes were considered standard attire, they stuck out like an Ogryn in a beauty pageant.

To the right was a small contingent of ancillary staff made up the various non-arbite departments within the precinct primarily the white-robed Administratum drones, they wore white in deference to the Adeptus Mechanicus's customary red robes to help ensure compatibility and ease of communication between the two entities. Of course they had focused on the completely wrong aspect but the Provost held his tongue. Among them were the Ecclesiarchy agents that acted as the chaplains of the precinct despite that the Arbites had their own chaplain in each precinct.

Behind the Provost was a golden statue of the Emperor of Mankind, standing tall and proud as a defender and ruler of the galaxy, as he should. Around His waist was the Book of Judgement, the tome to which all laws and punishments are decreed. Each Arbitrator had in his possession a data-slate version unlike the grox-hide bound version on the statue.

"Arbites, today will see the final being played at the Lucius Faith Stadium in approximately two hours, our _friends_ in the Administratum are expecting crowds upwards of five hundred thousand from our own hive alone, with another three to four million coming from the various other hives on our Emperor-blessed planet" He stopped as many of more devout Arbites made the sign of the Aquila and some of the priests muttered under their breaths.

"Combat teams will be on roaming patrol for immediate control should the crowds get out of hand." The Provost looked to his data-slate to double check his information "The stadium organisers have requested a visible presence within the stadium so Sergeant Tratius will lead his men inside the stadium and take up position to overview the crowd." He stopped to look at the sergeant in question. "I am under no false impressions that if the crowd turns ugly, that the twenty or so Arbites will be able to contain them longer then it takes them to be surrounded. If things look like they are going to flare up, do your best to hold them down but call in back up." The sergeant nodded earnestly.

"The surrounding bars and clubs should be considered hot-spots the number of supporters could triple in a few minutes so watch your rear" The Provost warned "Sniper and Chastener teams are also stationed ready to suppress any uprising."

"Armoured Sentinel teams have been dispatched with multi-lasers and heavy flamers should they be needed in crowd control but the last thing we need is a massacre. Repressors with heavy webbers and water cannons will be following the combat team's Rhinos." He turned his head to the Tech-Priest who nodded enthusiastically "The Omnissiah has blessed the vehicles and they function as you have requested Lord Provost." The Tech-Priest warbled through the vox-caster that replaced his mouth.

Krael nodded to be polite; personally the entire Mechanicum gave him the spooks, they had their own internal policing agency outside the watch of the Arbite and worshiped some clockwork version of the Emperor which just rubbed him the wrong way.

The Provost turned back to the sea of faces. "Some of you have voiced a wish to actually see the match yourselves." He sighed silently "I have spoken to the Lord Marshal on this matter" He stopped for a moment to see the barely hidden expectation in some of the Arbitrators faces. "He has, in his grand and wise judgement, has allowed the match to be recorded for viewing after the today's deployment." The Provost finished the sentence a moment before a cheer started to break out. They brought themselves under control a moment later.

Krael coughed into his gauntlet before moving on to his next item of this briefing. "The most divine Adeptus Terra has dispatched a representative and emissary to review and inspect the planetary government at all levels. They will be touching down on landing pad five in almost an hour and a half, their ship has been seen exiting the warp and is being guided in by the SDF (System Defence Force) as we speak." The Provost announced proudly. "As customary the Arbites will provide an honour guard for the representative."

The Provost's chest swelled metaphorically "For his fearless leadership in the underhive suppression action this morning, Proctor Frenius will lead the honour guard and show the emissary the strength of the Tercius Arbites" a round of applause roared as the Proctor stood "Thank you Lord Provost, I will not fail you" He bowed low causing the black cloak slipping from his back and hitting the man next to him.

Krael nodded and then went to the next two names on his list. "For rescuing a fellow Arbite while under-fire and bringing the block war on the mid-level to a swift end, The team Two-Three, Arbitrator Thall and Arbitrator Cairn will be part of the honour guard and show the emissary the courage of the Tercius Arbites."

Thall felt an aura of pressure fall around him as the applause started up again. Cairn, who was still in his armour looked to his partner with a pair of raised eyebrows and a slight chuckle. Thall stood first and faced the imposing giant of the Provost. Thall had never seen an Angel of Death, but the stories said they were almost a full foot taller than a man, as he looked at the Provost, he imagined that what it must be like to see an Angel. He bowed and recited as the Proctor before him "Thank you Lord Provost, I will not fail you". Cairn followed suit and the two sat down quickly, the two rife with awkwardness as the eyes of the entire assembled task force bore into them with the scrutinising glare shared by all veteran Arbites.

Again the Provost nodded quickly before moving on "For excellent skill in eliminating the Jokerz Gang leader 'Mr J' this afternoon. Sniper-Arbitrator Sven will be part of the honour guard and show the emissary the precision of the Tercius Arbites" The sniper stood as his name was read, again Thall and the others clapped enthusiastically as he bowed and pounded out the same line.

Krael groaned inwardly, 'precision', that was terrible, he hated long briefings, last one he thought, "For his dedication under fire and stalwart commitment to justice, for foiling an attempted robbery on a Departmento Munitorum arms convoy nigh-on single handed this morning, Arbitrator Grasis will be part of the honour guard and show the emissary the determination of the Tercius Arbites."

Krael smiled as the Arbitrator stood, it was over at last. "That is all, may the Emperor guide you" He started to wrap up, "Ave Imperator!" The hall shouted back. "Inspector Harron, may I have a word" he finished as he left the podium and bowed toward the Emperor before leaving with the man at his shoulder.

"My Armour!" Thall half-shouted as the newly-appointed honour guard returned to their preparation hall.

Frenius said "Gone?" as he opened his locker further down the row, "Don't worry" he sighed "It happens, probably to be cleaned" the Proctor grinned "Gotta' put on a nice image for the big-wig."

Thall looked to the Proctor as he prepared his under-clothing, Thall followed suit by grabbing at the black undershirt folded at the bottom of his locker.

Cairn stood of to the side, his locker swinging gently open. He still had his armour on therefore it hadn't been spirited away while they were in the briefing. The Arbites shotgun was slung over his shoulder as he watched the others prepare. "Frenius, what does honour guard duty entail?" He asked to the veteran who turned as he pulled on the balaclava.

"Lotta' pomp and ceremony if I recall, I did it once a few years ago, not much to it" Frenius said cleanly "Just shut up and stand still." He smiled as he pulled his shotgun from its hangings and raked the slide.

Cairn took a glance down his armour; it was covered in filth and detritus from the block war. Not the best image to present. He brushed an experimental hand down his chest. The grime came off easily. Several silvery scratches criss-crossed the armour from when the shots of the civilians had grazed him.

"How long we got till we roll out?" Cairn asked as he thought of a quick blast under a shower to wash away the filth.

"Not long enough" the Sniper stated from behind Cairn suddenly, who just smiled. Sven always did that, appeared behind people without warning, but Cairn was used to it by now.

Cairn turned to his friend and chuckled "Shame, perhaps the big-wig would like to see how the Imperium is outside the palaces and courts?"

Sven shrugged "I could talk; I fight at several hundred metres if I can help it."

Cairn chuckled again "Don't forget under the cover of darkness, with a high-powered gun and with all the targets in bright colours." He finished.

Sven sniggered grimly "And with no idea you're there."

The two shared a grim laugh over the profession. Thall turned to the Proctor with raised eyebrow to which the Proctor shook his head and pulled on his gloves.

Grasis was opposite to the Proctor as he closed his silvery locker. His shotgun also in his grip, he looked to his fellow honour guards, he was also without his armour. He leaned up against the locker with an exasperated look. "When do we get our armour back?" he crossed his arms "It's my armour dammit" Thall could see why he was so annoyed, he was primarily a rapid-pursuit Arbitrator, meaning he was at home in the saddle of a combat motorcycle ripping through the streets in hot pursuit of some unlucky perp. He would have converted his armour to perform adeptly at the job he needed.

Grasis laid his shotgun standing against the locker as he sighed. "The only way I'll give away my armour is if they will trade me for some power armour."

The Proctor laughed openly to that. "Amen to that" he agreed.

Thall pulled on final garb and closed his locker, the shotgun looped over his shoulder. He listened to the noises around him, the ad hoc Task Force 'Carnodon' was suiting up for battle. The various weapon racks were emptied of their ammunition stores and firearms. The reassuring sound of the Arbite shotguns echoed around the hall. The occasional _click_ of bolters joined in but were almost overwhelmed by the trademark weapon of the Arbites.

"Excuse us" a few Arbitrators said as they passed by the idling honour guard, they obliged.

The Proctor lightly tapped his fist against the meaty, armaplas covered arm of one of them "Tell me the score of the game and I'll tear your head off" he warned with a smile, the Arbitrator returned it and continued onwards.

Thall yawned uncontrollably for a second as he watched another platoon worth of Arbites leave all ready and armoured with their weapons slung over their shoulders. The little man that followed the Lord Provost had told the five to wait in the preparation hall and they obeyed. No need to annoy the big man.

Thall nodded to Sergeant Bale who passed after having a slight word with the Proctor.

Thall was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of metal on metal. Cairn had resorted to lightly tapping his head against the locker behind him to pass the time. Thall glanced to his partner with a look of mild amusement. How Cairn ever made it as a sniper was beyond Thall.

The plodding footsteps of someone coming didn't raise the attention of the five as the entire hall had been moving a moment before, but the booming voice did. "Arbites." The Provost declared. Thall and the others span as once, coming to a crisp courtyard stop.

"Lord Provost" they bowed. The Provost was still within his mighty power armour and if nothing else looked more deadly with the monstrous Storm Bolter in his grip. Beside him was a young woman holding the Provost's helmet solidly in her hands. She didn't like any older than fourteen years. Her dark robe covered her figure outside her thin arms. Her blonde hair framed her pale face, a defining aspect of a hive-child, probably the child of a ganger given up as punishment to the precinct or taken in after their execution.

Another, this time a boy of about the same age, held the scabbard of the power sword of the Provost's office. The scabbard was engraved with images typical to the Arbites, images of execution and punishment, above it all was a skull faced executioner holding a sword and a book. With the gold on black made it easy to see the images from this distance.

"As you have noticed, I have taken your armour from your lockers and at my behest I have ordered the Machine-Priests and our own Chaplain to clean and bless each suit." The Provost thundered. "You are to represent the Tercius branch of the Adeptus Arbites" He smiled theatrically "We must put on a good show."

As if and probably awaiting a cue, a member of Mechanicus walked through the doors of the preparation hall with a line of simple servitors in tow.

Between the servitors was a set of containers with clear fronts. Inside was their armour. Thall felt his heart miss a beat when he saw his veteran suit restored. The chips and gashes from hundreds of patrols and dozens of heavy fire fights were not removed, only cleaned up and polished like marks of honour. The badge of the Arbites was clipped to a thick black cloak that rode on the shoulders of each suit. The Imperial Aquila on the helm was polished to mirror sheen and detailed in gold.

Cairn looked suitable annoyed as he took another glance at his armour. "Arbitrator Cairn" the voice of the Provost said quietly, "As you remained diligent, ready for action, your armour was not free for restoration." Cairn turned back to the Provost. "As such would you please stand towards the servitors?" Cairn did so; a pair of former-humans broke away from the line and moved to the sides of the Arbitrator and raised their hands. Cairn noted each finger of the servitors was either bristled or some other sort of brush. The two looked like the cleaning servitors that usually spent their time strung up from harnesses and cleaning windows or shuffling around the living quarters cleaning up after the Arbites.

In a blur of motion the servitors went to work. Their hands becoming almost invisible as they vibrated against the surface of the black armour, jets of liquid erupted from nozzles in the wrists of the two and soon the surface of the armour was bubbling. Cairn resisted laughing as the Proctor had begun. The Proctor chuckled behind a glove, "I have a dream to something like that, just not with servitors."

Cairn shot him a glare "With all due respect, shut up Frenius" which only sent the Proctor into fresh gales of laughter.

Thall risked a chance look at the Provost; the giant man was smiling openly. Even his two followers were openly giggling like the children they were. Sven remained silent but a lop-sided smile rose.

Grasis however was completely unaffected, he was too enthralled in his own armour to notice the anxiety of his fellow Arbite. It was probably the first time it had been properly clean since his first patrol on a bike.

Eventually the pair stopped with a harsh burst of sweltering hot air from their mouth-grates. The heat-retardant balaclava protected Cairn from the worst of it.

The attendant Tech-Priest warbled "Lord Provost, due to the set chronological limits, we do not have sufficient time to perfect the Arbitrator's armour to your pre-set standard as laid down in the apocrypha of-."

He was cut off by the raised hand of the Provost. "It will suffice Tech-Priest."

Thall stood in front of the capsule that contained his armour. The door slide back easily, he touched the gauntlet and prepared to pull it off the rack that held it in position. However it was not meant to be as he pushed back by the claw of a four-armed servitor. The servitor removed the gauntlet instead along with the chest plate and shoulder pauldron. The machine turned to Thall and started to lift the chest armour above his head. The piece of carapace was lowered slowly and Thall stood still as it did. Of course it fitted as it had for the last ten years he had wore it. The fourth arm clipped the two underarm pieces together swiftly as the shoulder pauldron was fitted by the others. Within two minutes Thall was completely armoured and was handed his helmet.

The Arbitrator stood in his resplendent armour with his helmet in the crook of his arm. The others were being armoured just the same. The Proctor seemed to relish the whole experience. He did however seemed to twist against a servitor as his shotgun was taken away by another servitor.

"Do not fret Proctor. It's about time that you were issued a new weapon." The Provost said calmly. To prove him right a servitor trundled forward again this time holding a Godwyn-Deaz pattern Boltgun. Frenius' scowling veteran turned to that of a grinning juvie on Emperor's day. As the final armour clasp locked, Frenius reached forwards and gripped the gun and pulled it close. The black plating on the weapon fitted in with the normal attire of the Arbites. "This is fine Lord Provost, thank you my lord"

The Proctor bowed to the Provost. The Provost nodded "May the Emperor guide your shots."

The Proctor and the other Arbites called back "Ave Imperator".

The Provost turned again to the Proctor "If I may recommend using the boltgun on single fire. It is advised that only the Astartes fire more than one shot at a time" The Proctor nodded again as he checked the straight clip, twenty standard rounds.

The Provost moved forward "I will not hold you from your duties Arbites, go now, your rhino is awaiting you. I have a task force to command."

The Rhinos were like all the Rhinos of the Adeptus Arbites. Utilitarian and clean, the hard seats and even harder hull protected them from the worse shocks of the ride, from pot-holes to pot-shots; the Rhino would see them true.

The Rhino has been in service throughout the history of the Imperium. As an STC vehicle, the Rhino dates back to the distant time of Mankind's initial colonisation of the galaxy. Originally, they were named "RH1 N0 - Tracked Exploration and Multi-defence" - commonly referred to as Rhinos. It was used to explore newly colonised worlds prior to mass expansion, making sure there weren't any alien races waiting in ambush.

At its most basic level it is an armoured carrier with large tracks designed to cope with any terrain and protect those inside. It is such a basic design that it can be constructed from almost any material and run on any semi-combustible material. As such, the basic design has changed little throughout the years.

A small fleet of them were lined up on the courtyard as the Honour guard marched out with Proctor Frenius in the lead. The Provost marched out in front with his own little cadre of adjutants; the child-servants that assisted him had been dismissed and replaced by grizzled officers and bodyguards.

Thall looked around; the deployment had attracted the off-duty Arbites and Cadets. They stood of to the side respectively. The banners of the Arbites and the Precinct flew high and proud, the cloth fluttered as servo-skulls shook them to give the impression of wind in a sealed environment. The crowds cheered and rooted as the Provost exited with his entourage. Thall was about four dozen feet behind the mighty leader.

"Centre back row Rhino, the one with the marked back" The Proctor's voice inside the helmets informed the Honour guard. Thall could see it easily, the rhino itself was exactly like any other in the small fleet, painted darkest black with a pintle mounted stormbolter and track covers. The marking was simply a golden braided rope hanging from the carry hooks above the ramp.

Among the task force, Thall could easily see the Sentinels stomp up the ramp from the vehicle bay towards the main body of the force. The Repressors sat with their engines idling and squad after squad of Arbites stood by their transports ready to mount up.

Thall marched to a standstill with the other four behind the marked transport. The ramp swung open a moment later, the smell of incense and oil assaulted their collective noses but they ignored it.

"Arbites!" a voice boomed over the vox system. "In His name! Mount up!"

Thall stepped inside with practised ease, momentary flashbacks of other deployments flickered in his mind. He found the seats hard and unyielding as usual but at the same time that reassured him that he had drawn the long straw, far away from any possible major engagement. Frenius radioed in that his men were ready and the ramp closed as Cairn sat down beside Thall. Even inside the Rhino Thall could hear the growl of the bikes as they pulled out ahead of the convoy momentarily. A moment later the armoured transport lurched into motion. They were off.

The plodding sentinels kept up with the tracked vehicles rather well. Their legs mimicking a light jog that any human may do, the menacing heavy flamers were kept unlit for the journey, no need to waste promethium. The roads had been cleared by other patrols long before the deployment. Citizens stood watching in awe as the mechanised might of the Arbites rolled past on display. Several of them started shouting cheers towards them, to some, the arbites were heroes who fought the dark influences from below their own feet. Thall thought it was a interesting parallel to the lower levels, were you were more likely to have a flaming bottle thrown under your tracks or into open tops the lower you went.

The Proctor looked at his chronometre, "'should be landing in twenty minutes." He said to no one in particular. He leaned forward and caught the honour guard's attention with a simple click of his fingers. "If this runs smoothly lads, we have one line in this play, we stand and looked fearsome and hopefully nothing else. The Governor isn't coming, he's sending an aide but we are to protect him as if he were the Governor." The guards nodded in confirmation "The representative however is our highest priority, if he dies then the High Lords would be mighty annoyed, you get my flow?" again they nodded solemnly. "We follow the Representative's transport to the governor's palace and we head back, simple" The Proctor laid out for them. "Other than that, this should be easy" he quipped as he leaned back and went back to tinkering with his new toy.

"You should never say that Proc'" Sven moaned "Now we're frakked!"

The Proctor laughed "Don't worry Sven, we'll be ok as long as we keep our heads"

Thall looked to Cairn with a concerned look, in their line of work; nothing was ever 'easy'.

The rumble of the engine increased slightly as the Rhino peeled away from the main convoy towards the spaceport. "ETA fifteen minutes" the driver stated over the internal vox.

Of all the Arbites in that hold, Sven looked the most out of place, he was holding his shotgun as if he hadn't seen one in decades, which honestly was probably true, and most snipers never touched them outside of fighting in favour of training with their beloved rifles, which had been left behind for this mission. Grasis seemed too loath and relish the fact he wasn't driving the vehicle, as a rapid pursuit officer, not many people drove him anywhere, it was usually the other way round. To pass the time he started reading the Book of Judgement data slate that was hung from each of their waists in a protective case, a sure sign of unimaginable boredom.

"Prep up boys" the driver announced after what seemed an eternity for Thall, the Proctor was to busy checking his new weapon, Grasis had gone silent and Sven was to busy talking with Cairn over something Thall wasn't listening to.

Thall popped the hatch and took a look around; they had been waved through spaceport security, he could see the black armoured arbites working the gates, inspecting each and every vehicle that passed through. He dropped back through the hatch a moment later and closed it. Thall grabbed his shotgun from the seat next to where he was sat.

The Rhino halted abruptly. "End of the line" the driver said as the back ramp dropped down with a thud of finality.

"Roger that, on foot from here lads." The grey rockrete welcomed the five as they dismounted. Thall heard something that he hadn't heard in years as he stood tall, the whistle of the wind. His head shot up to see something he'd almost forgotten inside the hive. The sky, light grey with clouds and jet streams of arriving and leaving space ships, the long, thick towers of smoke rose from the manufactoriams off in the distance and blanketed vast patches of sky, aiding the atmosphere to that of a typical hive world. Looking towards the Adeptus Mechanicum sector brought the realisation to Thall of just how high up he was. Easily twenty to thirty kilometres up, even with the carapace armour, it was still fraking cold. Since wind wasn't up so he could hear the murmurs of his team-mates agreeing about the temperature.

Cairn looked over to the Proctor who seemed to be relishing the cold, "How long we got? The others don't seem to have shown up." The Proctor looked again to his chronometre "Anytime now" he called back. "How are you standing this weather?" Cairn asked as he tried to pull up the cloak into his neck to keep warm. 

"Valhalla native" he smiled back. Cairn sighed; to him this would be warm. The Arbites sent its footsloggers where ever their needed, so the Proctor was probably transferred to Tercius, only to wind up stuck there for the rest of his career save voluntary transfer which was a logistical nightmare in and of itself. 

The Proctor shrugged "As for the others, I have no idea" Cairn turned away to walk next to his sniper-buddy who was too busy taking it the sights of the planet outside the hive.

Tercius wasn't like most Hive Worlds in which the outer planet is a smog covered wasteland. The thick forests and still-blue seas still partially remained. There were even towns outside the hives but all with small populations and controlled directly be the nearest hive. Over millennia of growth and the occasional war, it was just the evolution of the planet's population to congregate in the most heavily defended and supplied areas, and such the first hives were built. Eventually the sky did indeed become covered in smog over the most heavily industrialised areas but the Lucius hive seemed to have escaped that fate.

Over the years millions upon millions of people arrived either through relocation or immigration. Eventually more and more hives were put up to house them all, and as such the Arbites presence increased as the planetary importance rose, while neither the strategic super-asset like Armageddon or a Forge World, Tercius provided the surrounding sectors with weapons and equipment to wage war. Lucius hive had recently seen another batch of its men go off to fight in the Imperial Guard as the proud 509nd Tercian Infantry regiment.

The resounding thunder-crack drew their attention away from surroundings and back to the skies. A blocky figure descended through the clouds and was moving towards the landing pad. As the last vestiges of cloud let go of the craft the Honour guard could see the wings and main body of the craft, it was shaped like a normal Lander from an orbiting mothership.

"Form up!" The Proctor roared and the four others obeyed, they stood in a line with the shotgun in front of their chests like they did during basic training, their feet parted slightly and facing forwards in parallel to match their actual eye line, dead forward. The Proctor stood in front of them with the bolter in the same position.

The transport came in slow but steady, the landing lights burst into life and the first sign of refuelling crews began to appear at the outer perimeter of the landing pad. The Lander held for a moment as if hesitating before dropping the last dozen feet to the hard rockrete. The ramp on the underside started to open as the powerful engines died down. The whole craft was about half of the landing pad across which was about eighty metres. So the craft had a wingspan of about forty metres. The ramp touched down and since no other representative had arrived yet, the Proctor stood forward.

"My lord" he began as the robed figure stood of the ramp and made their way forward flanked by a half dozen bodyguards. "On behalf of the Emperor's citizens of Tercius, I welcome you sire to our-" He was stopped momentarily as the figure removed their hood. Revealing not a crinkly old man like what everyone had assumed, but a fairly attractive young woman with deep red hair descending to her shoulders and lightly over the white robe.

She looked at the Proctor "Please continue" she smiled sweetly.


	7. Ambush!

Clearly stumped suddenly the Proctor did his best to continue "My apologise ma'am, I welcome you to Lucius Hive" He bowed gracefully, there was more to the official greeting but it would seem weird coming from an Arbite.

The growl of a combat bike answered Thall's unsaid question. He risked a sharp glance over his shoulder to see the Arbite bike coming to a stop next to their parked rhino at the edge of the landing pad. A ground-car you wouldn't see out of the upper-levels stopped next to it and several very annoyed looking people bustled out.

"My lady! My lady, my deepest apologises" A rather hurried looking man shouted as he reached the Proctor. "We were caught in an Adeptus Arbites roadblock they forgot to mention to our drivers." He bowed almost to the floor all the while the redhead merely giggled slightly and put a gloved hand in front of her mouth.

"I am the Governors personal attaché and his agent until we reach the palace." Sensing a slight to the Arbites the Proctor turned to the aide, "I assume this roadblock was in the mid?"

It was now the Arbitrator on the bike approached, sans bike of course. "Proctor, there was a level-four gang incident two blocks away, standard procedure demanded-"

The Proctor silenced him with a raised palm. "Of course, you do your unit credit by leading the honourable governor's agent to this place to make up for the interruption of their travel." Completely political, the Proctor could hardly chew out the aide in front of the Adeptus Terra Representative for trying to ignore the law.

"My lady, On behalf of the people of Emperor's citizens of Tercius, I welcome you ma'am to our glorious hive Lucius-" Like the Proctor he was cut off by the smiling woman "I have already been _welcomed_ by the good...?" She asked Frenius who turned back to her and bowed.

"Proctor Frenius deKravic my lady, at your service."

she nodded gratefully and took a step forward "I think we have wasted enough of the ground-crews time, they seem anxious to proceed" she declared "If I may suggest that we proceed."

As Thall turned to march he could see that the ground-crew, whom had no idea who this woman they were making all the fuss over was, were sat with cleaning tools, fuel pipes and other assorted equipment. The Representative entered the ground-car with the definite style of the highborn, but her six bodyguards followed the Arbites to their Rhino.

They mounted effortlessly and prepared to roll out. Frenius tapped his vox to the driver, "Follow that ground-car half stalk distance."

The vox rasped back "Half stalk roger." Thall could hear the roar of the powerful engine come to life again from being idle. The motorcycle echoed the same noise as it started.

Eventually the Rhino lurched forwards and they were off.

"How far is the palace?" one of the bodyguards asked, her features sharp even in the harsh glow of the lamp of the Rhino's interior.

"About an hour, allowing for traffic." Grasis responded quickly as he leaned back into the seat. He had probably run the route several times on his bike. The bodyguard seemed rather displeased with it, "An hour eh?" she shared a glance with the others. "How safe is the route?" was her next question, the Proctor answered this one.

"If I'm honest, not very, it goes right near a hot-zone of violent activity. Hence why we're here" she looked displeased again and rightly so, the governors set route was idiotic and overly dangerous, especially if he expected to put on a good show for the Representative. Frenius checked his boltgun one more time either way.

The first twenty minutes were relatively normal, the arbitrator at the front called in to report some crowds appearing along the roadside but nothing more. The bodyguards asked more questions about the Hive, its structure and the status of various sectors of the Hive. The Proctor was answered them dutifully and to the extent he could. When the bodyguard asked about any major deployments the Proctor told them about the game. "What's the situation down there?" the lead bodyguard asked. Thall clicked his vox unit on and set it to assigned frequency for the task force.

"Thall to Farrell, you read me, how are things down there?" He said off-headedly, expecting a simple reply.

"At the moment? We're mildly good, bit of a ruckus but not much more. The game however is brilliant from the bits I've seen, Raffan drove through to score-" He was stopped by the Proctor "We'll be watching later, don't spoil it for us" he grinned. "But all good Arbitrator?" Thall finished

"All good" Farrell returned before he moved on.

"Nothing out of the usual then" Frenius nodded to the bodyguard.

She started rummaging through her robes, eventually her hands emerged with a laspistol. This caused the Arbites to jerk their weapons to the ready but a calming hand from her stopped them from bringing them to bear. "Just a precaution I assure."

One of the body guards, an unassuming woman in the corner of the Rhino's hold began to heave heavily. "Ride-sick?" Sven asked as he started to reach for an emergency bag under his seat.

He was stopped when the woman began to claw at her head, "N-No" she squealed "My head, it hurts!" The previously quiet conversation within the hold stopped and all eyes turned to her. The five other bodyguards began to share worried looks.

The man sat next to her wrapped him arm around the now shivering woman "What sort of pain?" Then he said something that completely threw the Arbites. "What do you see?" that sent a spark of alertness through the Arbites. Special units dealt with those gifted with unusual abilities. The Proctor looked to Sven and Cairn who returned the look. Cairn carefully rested his hand on the butt of his laspistol.

"A Shadow" She hissed just as the vox cried with the voice of the forward Arbitrator.

"Under-fire!" As if to punctuate his words, rounds started to dance across the hull of the Rhino.

"Arbites deploy! Defensive formation Gamma-Three!" The Proctor barked as he switched to the mindset of a soldier. The ramp dropped unceremoniously and the Arbites started to pile out. Thall raked the slide of his shotgun as he stood behind Cairn, the sounds of gunfire where unmistakeably autoguns.

Cairn dropped out first from the Rhino, his shotgun levelled towards the source of the noise. The weapon barked harshly, filling the air with deadly projectiles. "Multiple contact, armed with minor automatics and melee weapons."

Thall half-leapt from the hold to the hard rockrete. The sound of gunfire echoed off the pavement and the walls of the surrounding buildings. The whizzing of the bullets screamed into his ears as the ganger adjusted his aim to focus on him. Thall raised the shotgun to take aim on the ganger. The shotgun boasted only rudimentary aiming abilities, a pair of archaic iron sights to line up. The gaudy mesh armour of the ganger filled his view as he charged. Thall twitched his finger and the weapon kicked back into his shoulder. The flash blinded him for a moment, but a millisecond later the flash went and so had most of the ganger's chest.

Sven and Grasis exited out the side door away from the incoming gangers. The bodyguards filed out behind them as Frenius exited from the ramp. The boltgun barked into the ganger wielding a stubber, spreading gore and viscera across the solid ground.

The junction they had stopped at was a simple T-junction that was straddled by a groceries emporium and a residence block, behind them was a normal shopping precinct, a place where juvies and youths liked to spend their free time.

Each of the bodyguards pulled a weapon from within their robes, the leader held what seemed to be a plasma pistol in one hand and a laspistol in the other. The others held boltpistols or hellpistols in their grips. Opposing them was almost two dozen gangers armed with autoguns or stubbers.

The ground-car drove behind the Rhino as the bullets danced across the armoured surface. The bolters roared into the cover the gangers had dived behind. The bricks detonated under the assault of exploding munitions.

The bodyguards moved to protect their charge and the occasional shot rang out from them into the assaulting gangers. Thall watched as a bright blue ball of incandescent plasma burned cleanly through the thin cover into the back of a cowering ganger, his chest was vaporised in an instant and he fell like a bloody doll.

Thall ducked behind the armoured plate of the Rhino as the shots flew thick and furious. The shotgun barked again but missed as the shot dug into the bricks. Cairn flattened his back up to the Rhino beside Thall. "Just our day" he smiled to his partner.

The boltgun barked again and again as the Proctor span out from the cover of a nearby ground-car that was parked alongside the road. Grasis ran ahead to cover the Rapid Pursuit Arbitrator. The fact that the dull thuds still boomed from the front of the convoy gave Thall all the reassurance he needed about the safety of the Grasis and the biker arbite.

Thall raked the shotgun again, the heavy weight almost forgotten in his hands. He danced from behind cover and devastated an unlucky ganger who was trying to close the distance with what looked like a hand grenade in his hand. The explosive fell short and lay of the ground under the bulk of the dead ganger. Thall was back behind cover when the grenade detonated, sending a thin red veil over the facing plate of the Rhino.

Cairn placed his foot in a ladder rung on the side door of the Rhino, the shotgun forgotten for a moment, replaced by his trusty laspistol. He pulled himself up over the plate to get a shot into the incoming enemy.

The first las bolt penetrated deep into the chest of a gunner with a autogun sending his aim swinging wildly, causing the now-dead ganger to slice the leg of a nearby friend apart with the last of his clip as he fell. Cairn smirked for a moment before a hail of fire caused him to duck.

Thall did the same as the volume of fire increased incredibly. "Suppressed!" The Proctor shouted as stubber rounds danced along the rim of his helmet, forcing him down.

"What the hell?" Sven shouted as he was driven back behind the plate of the Rhino, his shotgun slung in favour of the more accurate laspistol. "These guys got organised quickly." He bit as a round scrapped against his thigh. Thall risked a glance to the Representative and her guards. It seemed she and the agent of the governor were taking cover behind their own ground-car as the bodyguards fought desperately, the strange one being hauled behind the car with a stain of red discolouring her white cloak.

Thall's eyes widened as he saw the Representative take aim with a boltpistol and placing two accurate shots through the gangers, her arms instinctively riding the recoil before ducking again from the sheer volume of fire. Where in the Emperor's holy wash basin did she learn to shoot like that? He had no time to contemplate the question as another hail of rounds sparked against the plate next to him. He ducked away by reflex and bit a curse that would make old soldiers blush.

Luckily retribution and salvation was delivered in the form of the Rhino's stormbolter. It trained on the incoming gangers and roared gloriously. The crescendo of bolts blowing apart rockrete, mesh and muscle in a horrifying display of military strength. To Thall, who was stood almost under the thing, it sounded like an entire Imperial Guard artillery battery had opened up in all its rage, Cairn laughed as he clamped his hands of his ears. The normal sound of a stormbolter wasn't disturbingly loud, but the weapon was now on belt-fed automatic and the sounds were reverberating off the surrounding walls. It brought a grim smile to Cairn as the weapon fired in prolonged bursts.

The volume of fire against the Arbites diminished only slightly, a remotely operated stormbolter on full-automatic wasn't exactly renowned for its accuracy. It was more likely the driver was firing for suppression, but if he hit then it would hurt the unfortunate ganger a lot to say the least.

"Damn their persistent" Cairn swore a moment before a feral cry ripped his attention upwards.

Atop the Rhino was a screaming man; on his arm was a jagged claw-like weapon that seemed to attach his left hand. Cairn stood in slight shock, unsure of how to proceed. The man dropped onto the chest of the Arbitrator, pushing the wind from his lungs and sending him to the ground.

Before Cairn could blink the hand weapon swiped down, slicing the top layer of armaplas like is was paper. Cairn, in a moment of panic, cried out as he pulled his laspistol to bear on the feral ganger. Three las bolts punched into his chest but if he felt pain, he didn't show it.

A deafening boom broke into the air. The ganger was sent flailing to the ground with a spray of dark coloured blood. A sharp look to his left showed Thall pumping the arbites shotgun. A second shot flung the body further across the ground leaving a red smear. Another pump sent a spent shell tumbling to the ground. Cairn rolled to his feet while un-slinging his own shotgun. Cairn trained his weapon on the prone target.

Thall nodded to him as he flipped back to fighting the main force that was pressing against them. The Proctor fired a tight grouping into the ground-car across from him, the shots punched in the engine, causing the car to detonated violently, sending a large plume of thick smoke and fire racing about the area. The smoke provided however, excellent cover.

"Thall! With me" the Proctor shouted as he sprinted forward with his bolter in his grip. The Arbitrator followed easily, the shotgun covering the few clear areas of the sudden smoke.

The two moved through the smoke, the quickly pulled up balaclavas cutting out a lot of the smoke from being pulled through into their lungs. The two appeared behind a ganger holding a sawn-off shotgun and howling madly. A swift pull of the trigger from the shotgun ended him.

The Proctor raised his bolter down the blood-stained street. Multiple gangers were pushing up to the forward line. Thall choked back a horrible sight, purple clothes and iconography.

Thall's aim steadied as he felt himself fill with a fury and rage he hadn't in years. The shotgun roared his anger again and again. "Lasgun on the left!" The Proctor called to his Arbitrator. Thall tracked to the left, he saw the man the Proctor meant, the green lasgun was pulled to the perps' shoulder and he was clearly aiming to kill his target.

The shotgun fired its lump of shot towards the target. A piece of shot scored across the nose of the ganger, ripping it clear of the moorings and resulting in a bloody cry from the ganger. The second shot punched into his chest, reducing it to a mushy pulp.

Thall sprinted forwards as he shoved shell after shell into the weapon while the bolts from the Proctor flew past him. The stormbolter continued to fire through the cover the gangers hid behind.

The two Arbites went to work. Thall took another ganger down with a firm blast from his shotgun while the Proctor accurately painted the nearby scenery. Cairn and the bodyguards provided a nice barrage of fire into the main ganger line, felling one every few seconds with a well placed hell bolt or executioner round. The flash of the plasma whizzed past, usually vaporising whatever it hit.

The gangers were hiding in doorways and behind small alcoves of waist high walls. Their shots in return to the disciplined fore of the Arbites was surprisingly accurate and disciplined themselves surprisingly.

Thall moved to the corner of the junction, the shotgun slide clacking away every few seconds. Frenius moved behind him slapping in a fresh bolter clip. Thall kneeled as he reloaded, the Proctor swung out over him and let loose with the bolter. The shell casings flew out almost a metre away to the ground. The Proctor growled as he fell two of the idiotic gangers.

A cry called out across the junction. Thall span to loo, the Rhino blocked his view and before he could move to investigate a new wave of bullets broke into the junction as more gangers seemed to appear from nowhere.

Cairn however was in position to help; he jogged carefully towards the front of the convoy to see the combat bike on its side and Grasis clutching at the gaping wound in his stomach. The poor rapid pursuit Arbitrator was dead, his helmet split open by gunfire.

Sven was in an alcove to the right of Cairn, the shells littering the floor around him and dozens of down gangers to show for it.

Another half dozen almost rabid gangers pressed forward, these were armed with melee weapons such as axes or clubs unlike the gun-wielding gangers that had attacked from the junction.

A ganger was stood over Grasis with an axe more in place with an Ork instead of a human. A vicious snarl on his bloodied chewed lips twisted into a freakish parody of a smile. He raised his crude axe into the air. The pale skin was contrasted with the patches of blood that were scattered in his arms and chin.

Cairn loosed a shotgun blast into the attacking criminal, sending the villain to the ground in a pulpy mesh. "Sit down" He growled as he one-headedly pumped the shotgun like the heroes of the holo-dramas.

The others four gangers looked towards the Arbitrator with the looks of dazed animals for a moment before their faces turned to angry masks.

Cairn stood over the wounded Grasis in a defensive posture. He saw one of the autogun-wielding gangers behind the melee warriors pointed towards the Arbitrator and roaring orders. One of the axe wielding crazies charged deftly across the open ground, over the fallen motor bike, towards the Arbitrator. Cairn loosed a shot into the charging ganger. The buckshot ripped the stomach away from the ganger who just kept coming nonetheless. After a few steps the ganger stumbled slightly as the adrenaline began to run thin. A second tap of the weapon put the ganger down as the shot removed the potato from off his shoulders.

The other three drove forward as a group. Sven fired a blast into one of the group, shredding his thigh in a horrible display of potency of the weapon. This deliberated the ganger by a little but otherwise did nothing but add a rather bad limp to the berserk ganger.

Cairn added another shot to the barrage. The ganger was spread out on his back completely devastated. Out the corner of his eye, Cairn could see the next maddened ganger holding a spiked club. Cairn was disturbed to see that the ganger's skin was bleached white save the blood stains leaking from his mouth. His eyes were reduced to pin-prick black dots. Cairn started to drag the shotgun to bear but time was agonizingly slow to him. The club was falling down towards his head and there was very little he could do.

A sharp, deafening crack boomed into Cairn's ears as a bolt smashed into the ganger, throwing him to the floor in an eruption of flesh and red liquid. A quick glance over his shoulder showed the Representative of all people, wielding a boltpistol in one-hand, a devious smile and a wink to the Arbitrator. He couldn't help himself but laugh at the sight.

The laugh almost cost Cairn his head as the last ganger crossed the distance in an instant. The jagged sword-like weapon scrapped against the black armour in a shower of tiny golden sparks. Cairn fell back under the assault with a thud, the ganger falling on top of the Arbite as his momentum carried him forward. Cairn thrust his armoured gauntlet into the chest of his attacker, for that he was rewarded with a dull noise as the fist smashed a rib or two. The maddened eyes bore into the visor of the Arbite. Cairn got a long whiff of the stench that emanated from the mouth of the ganger. Narcotics teams would have a field day with some of the odours Cairn smelt. In return for the burning of his sense of smell, Cairn drove his forehead in the ganger's. Subtle difference being that Cairn's head was wrapped in armaplas and the ganger had a purple headband. The resulting impact ran through both men but arguably the ganger more. Cairn used the sudden advantage to wedge his shotgun underneath the ganger's centre mass and use it as leverage to throw the degenerate.

With a defiant humph! The ganger was rolled off and Cairn rose to his feet swiftly. He placed the shotgun into the chest of the criminal and prepared to pull on the trigger. Only for it to click empty. Typical he thought. The perpetrator grinned as he gripped the end of the gunmetal weapon and twisted it out of Cairn's hands with the assistance of a deft kick to the Arbitrator's arm; the weapon went skittering across the rockrete. The ganger hauled himself up as if he was unaffected by Cairn previous attacks. The criminal roared some wordless challenge as he threw his fist towards Cairn. The Arbite brought his arms up in a standard fighting stance, a swift block using the vambrace sent the fist away. The Arbitrator returned with a staunch uppercut to the ribs followed with a strong punch to the upper chest. Both of which didn't seem to affect the drugged and crazy fighter.

The ganger smashed his right fist into the helmet of the Arbite only to receive an elbow to the armpit and side of the chest. The ganger laughed it off as he salivated. The two exchanged another handful of blows before Cairn drove his fist across the chin of the ganger, sending a along gout of blood to the pavement. The ganger fought back with three open-palm strikes to the head of Cairn, no use breaking your knuckles hitting something that hard when the palm does just as well.

The ganger drove his forearm into the neck joint followed by a whip-like strike into the exposed mouth of Cairn, causing him to bite his lip hard, splitting the skin and filling his mouth with deep red blood.

Cairn spat the blood free as he drove back with a gauntlet to the under-protected stomach and solar plexus. Normally this would drive the wind from any perp' and send them to the floor but this guy just kept coming.

Cairn and the ganger grappled each other by the shoulder and their faces were forced next to each other, the fight become one of weight and leverage, sheer physical strength only playing a part in forcing your opponent one way or another. The heavy armour gave the Arbite the distinct advantage and that became clear to the ganger after Cairn threw him roughly to the ground. The ganger called some sort of underhive curse and stood again.

The criminal unleashed a wide roundhouse kick, aiming directly for the head of Cairn. Cairn responded by gripping the leg mid kick. "Gaze into the fist of the law!" Cairn scowled as he drove his free fist into the now exposed region of the ganger. The agonised cry echoed around Cairn, blocking out the now-dull thuds of a stormbolter running desperately out of ammo. Even Sven winced as the ganger dropped holding himself and shivering.

The autogun thugs were clearly displeased and trained their weapons against the Arbite only for a pair of bolts to silence them instantly.

Cairn turned to the still smirking representative and nodded thanks. Her bodyguards were making a good account for themselves backing up Thall and Frenius' mad attack into the firing line of the gangers. Sven moved to Grasis and began to look over his wounds. Cairn wiped the blood from his mouth and took a deep breath, whoever said fighting in carapace armour was easy was lying.

The roar of battle boomed through the streets, youths and adults alike began sticking their heads around corners and out of windows to see the commotion. Where they thought that it was a gang scuffle they met the imposing figures of the Adeptus Arbites. Many were sent scurrying away, fearing a block raid or worse. Some stayed to see the whirling destruction and devastation of the battle. The groceries emporium's great panoramic windows were smashed by the errant gunfire, by ganger or Arbite origin was unknown. The shoppers huddled as far away as possible and curled up praying fervently. The crowds that had come to see the Arbites transports roll past had dispersed as soon as the first shot had rang out. Many escaped the violence but an unlucky handful had been caught in the crossfire and now lay bleeding or dead on the cold, hard ground.

The Proctor leaned out from the sturdy pillar and loosed the last handful of shots into the gangers; many of the shots missed wildly and blew chucks out of the masonry behind them. As he whipped back into the relative safety of the rockrete he grabbed at his vox-horn "I say again, Proctor Frenius and Honour guard with charge under fire on-" a las bolt loosed a small chunk of pillar by his head causing him to flinch. Thall belted out a las bolt of his own from his position in retaliation. "-We are under fire on twenty-nine-one and east, area three mid-level three, we need immediate assistance!" He ripped the empty clip from his weapon and threw it away as he pulled a full one from his belt and slapped it home.

"Proctor Frenius" the vox crackled "We are unable to deploy reinforcements at this time; there is a citizen riot in progress in area six, mid-level four" The Proctor almost ripped the vox-horn from his armour but stopped himself short by blasting a overeager ganger who charged at them with a single bolt to the chest.

"Frak!" He shouted however as he did. He grabbed the vox-horn again "Look! We have the Representative of the Adeptus Terra, the frakking High Lords, here! You hear me! She dies and we're all up for personal one-on-one frak sessions with whatever the High Lords send this way as punishment!" He roared into the vox, Frenius whipped round the corner and continued roaring as he blew two gangers away with a half dozen shots. Overkill but it definitely helped his current rage issue.

"Targets closing from behind!" A bodyguard roared over the vox to the Proctor who craned his neck around to see the half dozen huge gangers approach with more mêlée weapons. He whipped round to train his boltgun on the lead before the ganger swung his axe and tore the Arbite apart. To his surprise the big man walked straight past the two black armoured arbites and instead broke into a full-on charge into the purple perps'.

The charging men roared something unintelligible and set about bloodily murdering the purple gangers as they loosed round after round into them. Thall immediately had a mini-flash back to the big guy from the block war, but these seemed a bus load more insane and blood-thirsty.

The overdeveloped muscles swung the gore-stained axes again and again ripping flesh, muscle and bone with contemptible ease. The bronze coloured weapons glimmered as the overhead lighting of the hive struck them in a grim fashion. The Proctor looked to Thall and gestured back to the Rhino. Thall nodded in return while watching the slaughter with detached disgust.

Cairn pulled Grasis back to the Rhino with the aid of Sven. Thall rounded the armoured plate as one of the bodyguards began to administer first aid to the wounded arbite. "What happened to you? Joy girl turn you down? Wouldn't be the first time." Thall joked to Cairn as he started methodically reloading his shotgun.

Cairn shrugged dismissively "Who are the big guys?" Sven asked as he looked past the armour plate to see the slaughterhouse in the making.

"Don't know, don't care" The Proctor shrugged "Our first priority is to protect the Representative. He looked to the redhead as she was talking to the wounded bodyguard. "We don't have the time or manpower to deal with inter-gang warfare at the moment."

Cairn sighed "Not the first time we let two gangs kill each other to save manpower."

The Proctor grunted "Exactly." The Proctor checked the cycling bolt on the boltgun "We finish them off after their finished with each other." The other arbites nodded as they readied their weapons.

The sounds of auto fire died down and the wet squelch of sundered flesh and spilt blood rose in it place. The roar of the victors echoed through the junction. Thall stuck his head around the plate of the Rhino. Only two of the berserkers in red remained, their simple clothes were dripping with the remains of the purples. Their tanned hides were pot-marked with tell-tale bullet wounds and gash marks, the wounds bled openly as the two went about removing the heads of the dead gangers.

"They seem finished" Thall reported as he turned back to his compatriots. The Proctor motioned for the Arbites to fan out and the moving Arbites responded, the bodyguards took up positions to aid them as they followed the actions of the Representative. The Governors Aide stood to the side as looked about in revulsion at the signs of battle. The Arbitrators stood far apart and each raised their weapon against the two. The two looked up and saw the impromptu gun line. The closer of the two roared again and began his mad charge against the Arbites. The Proctor began by blasting a bolt into the chest of the man, the meat on his chest reduced to bloody chunks but still he came charging. The hellpistols and shotguns barked into the enraged ganger. The muscle and fleshy tissue was torn away in the deadly hail of gunfire. As the first dropped the second leapt over the corpse with a maddened look in his eyes. The thick beard matted with the blood of the purples. A bolt to the head and a half dozen hell bolts to the sternum dropped him rather quickly.

Cairn pumped the shotgun in one hand and slung it over his shoulder again. The two gang troops were dead or running for their lives. Thall went back to the groaning form of Grasis as the bodyguard finished tying the last bandage around his now exposed mid-section. Frenius grabbed the vox-horn and clicked it on to report to control. Cairn turned and walked back to where the corpse of the ganger that leapt on top of the Rhino was left.

With a firm kick he rolled the corpse over and immediately the body came under scrutiny, something about the weapon he used didn't ring true with Cairn. It didn't take him long to realise what. "By the Emperor" he breathed as he straightened the arm out to it full length. Easily long enough to touch his knee without stooping; the arm itself was hard to the touch. The like cells of the skin had formed some primitive armour. The arm was thinner then the ganger's opposite arm which looked, other than the gang markings, looked completely normal.

"Nasty piece of work that." Sven said as he crouched beside Cairn and looked at the arm himself. The hand-weapon however started to ring alarms bells within Cairn's head. There was no hand, only a mutated claw in its place, it didn't look like the result of some sick surgery though that didn't stop the Arbite from wishing it was. It seemed natural and the claws seemed absurdly sharp, at least sharp enough to rend through the carapace armour with little effort.

"Oh dear" murmured a woman behind him and Cairn craned his head around to see the Representative looking down, her sky-blue eyes taking in the intricateness of the mutant arm.

Cairn stood and looked at her "Such things are unfortunately a common side effect of living in the underhive, regular purity checks and corrections are difficult to carry out due to the unruly nature of the area." She turned to him with a hard gaze "To attain this there must have been an unknown number of generations of genetic-deviant inter-breeding. My apologises my lady for failing to purge the mutant element sooner."

The Representative shook her head "No need to apologise Arbitrator, no matter how firm the grasp, cells always slip through." Cairn looked to the body again. "Resilient little buggers" The redhead quipped to the amusement of Sven and Cairn.

"My lady" the Aide moved to the Representative "I must insist that we continue on if you are unharmed."

She smiled and nodded. "However, given the situation" She looked to the Arbitrator "May I be allowed to be transported in the Rhino?" Cairn looked to the Proctor who was still busy talking away on the vox-horn. "I'm sure it can be arranged."

The Rhino rolled through the streets with almost reckless abandon. Ground-cars were smashed out of the way of the armoured transport. The aide's ground car followed in its wake. The Representative sat in the armoured hold of the Rhino. To the Proctor, she looked completely at ease surrounded by armed soldiers. Grasis was sat next to the medic of the bodyguards. Thall kept the strange woman in his sight. The Representative looked to the Arbite "Issue?" She asked pointedly.

Thall spoke before he really thought over what he was saying. "You didn't declare your psyker upon arrival. That's a capital offence." He held the two of them in his gaze.

"Oh yes" the Representative laughed innocently "May I declare her now?" The Proctor looked to her and nodded his head. "May I introduce Relena of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, my personal psyker." The thin woman nodded who despite her full young form, her hair was prematurely white, probably from the stress of her job. The red on her cloak showed off that it was her who the mutant-gangers had hit. The bandages underneath showed that she would probably be fine.

Cairn was too busy musing over the dead mutant who was currently stashed in the 'meat-locker'. A cold-storage compartment built into Arbite Rhinos to transport perps' to the precinct for _trial_.

"How many generations would it take for those sorts of mutations to appear?" Cairn openly thought. "Don't they know genetic-deviant breeding is illegal?" He snarled before catching a glare from Relena. "But sanctioned mutations are completely legal" He smiled weakly.

Relena continued to glare as the Rhino rolled along. The ride was thankfully quiet for the Arbites and their guests. Within minutes of the incident the Provost contacted the Proctor, who cleared everything up in short order.

Grasis wasn't listening to any of the conversation that didn't directly involve him. He was too busy staring as a set of dog tags in his left gauntlet. The Rapid Pursuit Arbitrator's dog tags. He swore quietly under his breath. At first seemed as if they could hold them, the gangers, back with nothing more than the bolters on the bike and the shotguns they both had. But soon they were surrounded, and while Sven helped it was too late. A lucky round winged the Arbitrator and he fell on his arse as he covered Grasis. The shotgun in his grip was still blasting away even as stream of bullets walked up his chest. He pocketed the dog tags in one of his belt pouches. The shotgun lay across his knees, fully loaded. He flicked his gaze around; the quiet conversation had started again, admittedly a little coyer then the previous use of language from the first part. The driver estimated that the trip would take about thirty minutes as they passed into the upper-levels. The area where elite reigned from and ignored the rest of the hive, preferring to revel in the idiotic gossip of the rest of the Imperium.

On Grasis' homeworld, such people would have thrown to the Kraken and the ever-churning seas. They considered themselves lords and ladies, greater than the rest of the populace. Grasis had seen true lords, giants clad in grey plasteel and wearing the pelts of the native wolves.

"So what's the Governor like?" The Representative asked as she leaned back into the hard seat with her arms crossed.

Frenius mulled the question for a moment "It is not our place to say" he said eventually.

The Representative raised an eyebrow "That bad?" she smiled.

"Lord Macekre has had to make some difficult choices in his reign, not all of them popular." The Proctor conceded.

Thall looked away, unpopular was an understatement. The current governor seemed to go to great lengths to undo all the good work his predecessor had laid down. Food and medical aid for the underprivileged, proper education for the underhive as well as revamping the entire socio-structure of the hives, Lord Hericius' only flaw was the fact that in his later years, either through grief over his lost children or the weight of the command, he had seemed to go rather insane, eventually opting to sign up for the Imperial Guard and leaving Tercius only to die valiantly in battle if the current governor was to be believed.

His new replacement, a member of a relatively young house, had taken over after a rather quiet bout of house-to-house political warfare. The 'Lord' Macekre, had, as he stated, returned glory to Tercius. It seemed, to Thall anyway, that his version of glory was massive banquets, parades and mass contributions to the Imperial Guard. Which while that pacified the Departmento Munitorum, it had royally annoyed the Adeptus Mechanicus, as he had conscripted from the areas where the Mechanicus drew its workforce from, the Governor described them as the 'dregs of society who must prove their worth to the Immortal Emperor'. The only institutions he hadn't messed directly with seemed to be the Adeptus Arbites and the Adeptus Astra Telepathica.

The people had begged for Hericius not to leave, they couldn't stop begging for Macekre to go as soon as possible.

"I would expect for you my lady" Cairn began, "A rather extravagant arrival" He noted the strange look that appeared on her face, one of slight amusement and almost relief.

To say that is was extravagant was an understatement. A large luscious red carpet lined the road, lining the carpet was almost a hundred sets of holo-capturers and vox-recorders. The lights flickered as the ground-car drove past. Thousands of standing upper-level citizens applauded loudly as the ground-car passed. There was an undercurrent of music but it was eliminated by the ovation as the mini-convoy drew to a halt. The large majority of media gathered around the ground car and even the footmen of the palace marched towards the passenger door and forged a path towards the main doors of the palace.

When the ramp of the Rhino dropped and two battle-scarred Arbites walked out however, the crowd turned in surprise. Unsure of how to respond, it was only now that they seemed to notice the dents and scratches on the two vehicles. Immediately the Arbites were bombarded with questions from a hundred voices at once. Thall looked to Cairn as the journalists pressed on with useless and self-evident questions. Cairn half-shrugged and the two stood strong against the throngs of the people. The smiling Representative exited next to the jubilation of the crowd, as if she was some sort of holo-star, she had easily the looks and manner to be thought Thall. Her bodyguards exited afterwards and formed a defensive circle around her. Relena stood where the crowd could not easily see the blood stain. Only the Representative had her hood down allowing her hair to flow free. Her warm grin shone as the crowd melted form in front of her. The Aide exited from the ground-car but no one seemed interested, much to his chagrin.

Soon she had disappeared into the entry of the palace. The Arbites stood and sighed. The Proctor leaned against the Rhino's hull and exhaled deeply. "Easy, they said" He half-moaned. Thall watched as the citizens who weren't invited in, otherwise known as most of them, start to disperse each alive in conversation with their partners and groups. Thall caught a snippet of conversation about the Representative's hair. Thall groaned ashamedly. They clearly didn't understand what a Representative of the Adeptus Terra could mean for the Hive, the world even. She could declare the whole world in need of mass reformation and penitence if she wished. In fact she could probably do anything barring mass extermination of the population without consent of her bosses.

A few of them threw dirty glances at the Arbites and their vehicle. Thall looked down his armour; he was again covered in grim and dust, his perfectly polished eagle and badge were covered in a light covering of soot. They each looked a mess and Cairn chuckled. Compared to the perfect skin, fair hair, expensively dressed upper-level folk, then they probably did look like a group who just spent a few hours down a mine shaft.

"Let's call it a day" The Proctor sighed as he hauled himself back into the Rhino. The lights were diming as he did; the Hive was entering the night cycle mirroring the world outside, soon the streets would fill with teens and young adults all seeking what they described as a 'good time', usually ending up intoxicated and in some cases violent. The Thall and the others didn't have to worry about that themselves, they weren't scheduled to do that.

The ride back was quiet and in some strange way, relaxing. No one shot at them and they received no calls to respond to emergency situations. Thall chuckled as he saw that Cairn had dropped off completely in his seat. Grasis didn't seem far off either. From block wars to mutants, It had been a long day for all of them.


	8. Hold!

Corbal sat in his makeshift office in the Fifth Armoury administration building. The pict-screen in the corner jabbered on but he wasn't listening to it, the ceiling was providing much better entertainment then the drivel the machine whined. The office was sparsely decorated, aside from a chair, a table and a cogitator, there wasn't much to this office save the file cabinet and the aforementioned pict-caster, there was barely enough room for the Captain himself. He desperately wanted to sleep as he reclined in his seat with his feet up on the desk. The annoying flak armour discarded for the moment. The data-slates that decorated the desk shoved to one side to allow the heavy booted feet space to rest.

The door opened slowly and a soldier entered a moment after declaring "Excuse me sir". "Captain Corbal" the soldier saluted as he entered, "Yes Jacob?" The Captain smiled to the underling. "Third platoon has been billeted sir" the lieutenant responded crisply. "Good work Lieutenant" the Captain smiled, hoping the officer would leave quickly, but it seemed something the pict-screen said caught the said officer's ear. "Oh, is that the agent of the higher ups?" Word had spread among the soldiery that a Representative had was arriving to inspect the hive. "She's pretty" the young soldier awed at her face as she appeared on the screen. The Captain looked at the screen, and he had to agree, though after spending the last five months with almost three thousand soldiers in an exceedingly warm barracks would make anyone else look like an angel.

The Tercian 509th Regiment was the latest of many newly founded units formed from the Planetary Defence Force's upper-crust. However the recent spate of recruiting had meant that the number of new regiment didn't match the number of available transports to move them to the nearest warzone. The Departmento Munitorum had told the regiment that a proper troopship would be in their system that could accommodate them and their equipment. They told them that almost six months ago and the governor didn't want to annoy the Departmento Munitorum by dispatching the three regiments that were still on planet without proper orders or even a proper destination to go to.

"I wonder if she'll tour the armoury" the Lieutenant openly asked. The Captain doubted that very much, pretty face like that? She wouldn't be able to tell a guardsman from an Astartes. No, he thought, she would spend all her time with the high society being fawned over by dozens of hand servants and eating the finer foods before finally leaving with a full stomach and only half a brain cell of what life was actually like on Tercius under the upper-levels and high spires.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up lieutenant" Corbal said eventually, "We have bigger worries other then the spit shine on our boots."

The Lieutenant turned to the older Captain. "You think we'll really move into the underhive sir?"

Corbal looked at the young officer as he sat straight, his chance at sleep ruined; he was barely out of his teens and was now expected to lead almost fifty men into battle against traitors, xenos and mutants. He looked genuinely scared that his first of those battles would be spent killing his countrymen of the very hive he had come from. Since they hadn't left yet they had resumed their previous duty of planetary defence troops, albeit in separate barracks and command structure. The former PDF officers had been divided out to provide a definitive command structure for the burgeoning regiments. Unfortunately there wasn't enough to fill all the platoon commander slots. Only first company in their regiment had 'experienced' lieutenants, the rest were equally as new as the troops they commanded.

"Maybe Lieutenant, maybe" The Captain lied, it was almost a foregone conclusion by this point that they would at least move to control, if not crush the gangs entirely. To move so many men and so much equipment and not use deploy them would reflect badly on the governor to the PDF commanders and the media. The Arbites were pretty much thing that could halt the operation through annihilation of the gangs save a visit from the Emperor Himself.

"We go where were needed Jacob, we are the Imperial Guard, remember that" The Captain propped up as he saw the Lieutenants face drop sullenly. "If we must move in then I expect a proper performance from my troops and my officers, no matter the enemy, is that understood."

"Sir Yes sir" the lieutenant said proudly despite what his face showed. The Lieutenant saluted and then exited the office, leaving the Captain and the pict-screen. He watched as the camera pan over the ground-car and the attendant Arbites and their Rhino, both with visible damage to their surfaces and what looked to be slashes on one Arbites' armour.

"Just what are we gonna' face in there" Corbal said quietly to himself.

The Rhino sallied back into the courtyard after an hour and a half, almost three hours after it departed earlier that day. Task Force Carnodon was still out on patrol and suppression actions. Last Thall heard, the Provost was leading a combat team into a suspected gambling den. The teams had finished playing about an hour ago and now the Imperial law keepers had to deal with the aftermath.

As the Rhino slowed to a halt near the main building, a team of Arbite Medical and a Forensics team moved forward. The Rhino's ramp dropped and the Arbites exited. Thall nodded to the four Cadets holding a steel cradle. They were here to carry the fallen Arbite that was sharing the space with a mutant. Thall resisted the urge to spit in disgust. He merely opened the casket and allowed the team to extract the body. They placed the body into the cradle reverently, Grasis moved towards the body and reached into his pocket. The dog tags jangled as they were removed from the pouch. Grasis looked to them again before sighing. He placed them on the chest of the fallen Arbitrator. The shotgun laid beside the body as the team took him away to be consecrated and buried.

Thall held no such respect for the ganger; he gripped the hard flesh of the mutant arm and almost ripped the dead corpse from the simple container. The Medical team held a far less ornate stretcher, ready to accept the corpse. Thall heaved the straggly offender onto the white fabric. The dark blood immediately started to stain the cloth.

With a dismissive gesture Thall sent the Forensic team on their way. He turned to the others and looked to the Proctor. Frenius removed his helmet and pulled back his balaclava. He breathed deep as he waved the squad up towards the main building.

The doors swung open for the five Arbites. The menials bowed low as the Proctor entered with a grim face. his bolter held in his grip and his black cloak flowing behind him. Thall and the others till had their helmet on and marched in behind the Proctor in a box formation.

Cairn had to stifle a laugh as he saw the faces of the Cadet, menials and the citizens at the front desk. They must have looked like something straight out of a holo-drama. The previous commotion died immediately as they entered. Once again the boots stomped in mud and debris into the previously clean white floors. This time however, Thall didn't care what the menials thought. The Arbitrators on the desk stood straight and saluted to the returning honour guard.

One young child, probably accompanying a parent to the precinct wondered out from the queue and stood in front of the Proctor. A woman, Thall assumed the child's mother darted out to scoop up the boy form the implacable Arbite march. She whimpered an apology and bowed low to the Proctor. Frenius stopped and looked the woman with his hardened features. The woman seemed to shrink into her manufactoriam overalls even further.

The four others drew to a halt behind the Proctor. Thall could hear an almost inaudible growl emanate from Frenius. Thall shot a quick glance to Sven who returned it, was the Proctor going to charge them with Impediment of an Arbite?

The Proctor reached to his waist, hovering over the marker gun. The thick armoured fingers delved down. Thall held his breath, was the Proctor in that bad of a mood, Thall felt for the loss of a comrade too but even he wasn't about to pull a 'Arbitrator Fear', a holo-drama character from a factually incorrect series about the Arbites, renowned for his harsh nature and strict adherence to the law, even more than the standard most Arbites held themselves too.

The hand of the Proctor whipped quicker than Thall could follow. The woman almost shrieked in terror before she saw what the Proctor was holding. A simple grox flavoured ration bar. The child reached out from his mother's arms and took hold on the silver wrapping. The Proctor broke a smile and the crowd let their combined breath go. A wave of relief washed over all of them as the Proctor ruffled the hair of the child and continued his march onwards.

The five entered the preparation hall and started to relive themselves of their armour. They changed in silence. The weight of the day starting to push on each of them, mentally and physically. Cairn was the first to sigh audibly. "What a day" he said laconically. "First those kids, then the block war, then that!" He shook his head and sighed again. Thall looked to his partner and shook his head.

The shotguns hung from the racks and the laspistol were returned to their places. The once clean armour was placed back into the lockers. The Proctor sat on the bench that lead down the centre of the aisle. He rubbed his face with sweat lined hands. "We are now officially off duty" The Proctor said from underneath his palms, he dropped his hands on his lap. "Squad, dismissed" The four other saluted sharply and promptly left the hall.

The Proctor was left alone in the preparation hall. He reached to a stack of papers on an inside shelf in his locker. He pulled one free and laid it on his lap. He also took a stylus. The title on the paper read 'Official Record of the Deceased' and with a final sigh he started to fill out the form, he hated doing these forms.

Thall sat down into a padded seat in the refectory. The grox-bun in his hand had a massive bite taken from it. The hall was quiet due to the distinct lack of Arbites in the precinct and the usual tone of muted conversation that took place that happened within the large walls of the refectory. The servitors bussed trays of food back and forth between the tables of Arbites, several off-duty administratum drones and menials.

As he chewed his way through the meat he thought on today's events. What was that mutation being the main question that filled his mind.

Cairn dropped into the seat opposite from the pondering Thall. The clearly tired Arbitrator put on a lazy smile "Good grox today?" he asked. Thall chewed a few more seconds before responding "Reprocessed, as usual" he mumbled. "Good, my favourite" Cairn laughed as he waved down a servitor and ordered one himself.

"What the hell was that arm?" Cairn asked as he slouched in the seat. "If he asked for that I'd ask for a refund." He quipped as the servitor returned with his food. "Thanks" he nodded to the servitor despite the uselessness of the gesture. Thall took another bite as the servitor wandered off on it caterpillar tracks. "Perhaps a purge in the underhive would be needed" Thall said. "Some serious purging needed in the hive overall" Cairn said off-handily. "Bit harsh don't ya think?" Thall glared at his friend. "You see what those claws did to me!" Cairn stressed with the slight humour.

The two sat talking, drinking a small stream of recaf and eating the reprocessed grox buns. They were only disturbed by the rumbling of Task Force Carnodon.

Thall and Cairn exited the refectory with their third round of grox buns. The growl of the Rhinos and Repressors could be heard from the courtyard; the occasional Castigator Riot Vehicle lingered among them but was otherwise overshadowed by the up-gunned Repressors the Tercius Arbites were in the habit of deploying.

The two Arbitrators exited into the courtyard expecting to see the entire Task Force, they saw only a handful of vehicles. A couple of Sentinel pilots walked up towards the main precinct in a hurried gait. "Where's the fire?" Cairn quipped as the Arbitrator approached.

The pilot was panting as she halted in front of the off-duty Arbites. "Frak hit the fan downtown." She panted, "We just returned to empty our prisoner holds and re-fill our ammunition stockpiles." Thall handed her his grox bun to which she wolfed down eagerly. After she finished she sprinted off again.

"Evening" A voice pulled the attention of the two. "Farrell!" Cairn exclaimed. The Arbitrator was being helped up the steps by a Cadet as he clutched at the side of his chest. "Oh Emperor" Cairn sighed "Can't you stop yourself being shot?"

The Arbitrator chuckled "Stabbed actually" He corrected, "The crowds were fine till somebody let off a shotgun." Farrell smiled "Next thing I know, a young girl shivs' me."

Thall and Cairn shook their heads. "Didn't the Doc' staple you back together this afternoon?" Thall put forward.

"Wouldn't want him to get bored?" Farrell laughed as the Cadet hauled him up the steps.

"You think we should go help?" Cairn asked Thall as they watched the Arbitrator be pulled towards the Medical wing. Thall shrugged, officially they were off-duty and there were plenty of units still available to assist the Provost.

But to due to the citizen riot, those resources were split. At last check the riot was slowly moving towards the stadium, possibly to link up or just by coincidence. "Our armour is rather damaged," Thall said as he continued to watch, "But we should find a way to help." He said sternly as another troupe of Sentinels stomped to a halt in front of a squad of waiting Enginseers. Thall turned to Cairn "Your Sentinel licence still valid?" The Arbitrator nodded as he took the final bite of his grox bun.

"No need. We have everything under control" the grizzled voice of Bale echoed up to the two as his heavy boots stomped up the steps. In his iron grip was a whimpering citizen, a red stain miscoloured his blue manufactoriam overalls, his eyes wild with fear. "Take the perp'" Bale ordered as he thrust the man forward. Thall grabbed the criminal as he stumbled up the steps. "What he do?" Thall asked as he retrained the fear-wrecked man.

"A Section 92" Bale growled.

"Criminal Damage" Thall echoed to the perpetrator. "A Section 102" Bale continued.

"Rioting" Thall echoed again.

"You're looking at eight years" Cairn warned to the man.

"I wasn't rioting" he squealed, "I was just trying to get home!" but Bales voice boomed again.

"And a Section 114."

Thall looked to the veteran sergeant "Littering?"

Bale merely nodded. "The only thing he did right was he didn't resist arrest." Thall looked to the perp' "Oh you're in for it now" he said with a chuckle as he hauled the skinny man up the steps.

"Colonel" The Captain saluted as entered the briefing hall. He was waved down towards a seat in the centre of the hall.

"Captain Corbal" Colonel Kravitz nodded.

"Now we're all here." Captain Derringer shrugged as he reclined in his seat. The Colonel sent the Captain a stern look but dropped it a moment later. "What's happening in there Colonel?"

The captains of the Tercian 509th were sat around a simple wooden table in front of a holo-projector that displayed the schematics of Hive Lucius. The briefing hall was in the centre of the administration building, usually used by the administratum to discuss various numbers on slates. The Hall originally stated to hold upwards of two hundred now seated fifty, the captains and logistic personnel from the regimental headquarters and service company. The arid smell of low-grade recaf permeated every fibre of the room like some sort of malodorous spectre.

The Colonel coughed to clear her throat as she began. "As of two standard terran hours ago, Hive Lucius entered into a state of alert. A standard, run-of-the-mill citizen riot sparked up despite the exemplary efforts of the Arbites to contain the situation, the disruption spread throughout several city blocks." She stopped for a moment to allow the hololith to alter to show a representation of her words.

"The Arbites are rounding up the rabble-rousers now and the riot is expected to died down soon, though this falls within the usual standards of larger riots. However, it seems in a panic, Governor Macekre has finally given the order for the Imperial Guard to begin operations into the underhive" The words dropped like an anvil to Corbal, despite the fact he was expecting them, he was still taken aback by the order. The Colonel's face showed the same expression, "The rank-and-file Planetary Defence Forces will hold off the moment." She turned to Aran, the Captain of the 509th first company. "The first will lead with a mechanised spearhead" The screen again changed as she fiddled with several knobs and dials. "The other companies will fill in after the first takes, Mostatia plaza." The hololith changed to show the said plaza. "That area is our designated staging zone in the underhive" The Colonel stated clearly.

"What are the rules of engagement?" Captain Garrius asked as he leaned forward, absorbing every miniscule detail of the map. His fourth company would be the default for defence of the little staging area. This is where the Colonel visibly hesitated. "We are, by order of the Governor, to react to all approaches by civilians as a hostile action and to deal with it accordingly." Also known in Guardsmen terms as Fire at Will.

"We, the 509th will deploy in five standard hours" The Colonel ordered clearly and the six captains replied in kind.

"Captain Corbal" The Colonel said again after a hushed conversation with Major Julian, the regimental second-in-command. "Your men are to link the 509th and the 507th, here" The map changed to the area just to the east of Mostatia plaza, to what looked like a small yet expansive range of tunnels and service corridors. Despite the difficult nature of the area, it would provide an invaluable cordon to contain the ganger's movement in that area of the Underhive. The small tunnels would however put the Imperial Guard troopers at a massive disadvantage. Judging from the tiny scale at the bottom of the hololith, it looked like the guardsmen would just be able to walk by twos through the inescapable death trap they were walking into. The Captain sighed as it was his turn to absorb as much data in a few moments. This was getting worse by the moment.

"Hold!" Proctor Serganius roared as the stubber rounds raced over them. The sparks of gunfire sprinkled on the suppression shields the Arbitrators held in their grips. The shield wall held true under the pressure of fire from the gangers. In the chaos of the riot, various gangs had decided to take advantage of the situation and had hid inside the tumultuous tides of people, further inciting the crowds to higher and higher acts of riotous conduct.

The Proctor waved the shield wall forward. In unison the wall marched onwards in formation. The rioters shouted abuse and hurtled primitive missiles into the oncoming Arbites. True to their training, the Arbites marched unperturbed into the rain of vocal and physical abuse.

The Arbites came to a halt on order and stayed still as the gangers became more and more fervent. A few came close enough to attack the shields with clubs and simple bladed weapons. They continued long enough for others in the crowd to close and vent their anger. One closed to yell at an Arbite, feeling safe because of the crowds behind him. The man was a thin and tall juvies whose entire right arm had been covered in coloured patterns.

The juvie expected for his voice to fall uselessly on the steely ears and hardened suppressions shields of the Adeptus Arbites, what he did not expect was the shield in front of him to jut out, smashing the young man to the ground. The shield came down and the juvie yelled out even as his mouth filled with blood from his recently crushed nose. Instead the shield landed to the side of the juvie, shielding him from the crowd. In a moment of blind uncertainty the juvie looked up to see the powerful glare of the black armoured Arbite staring down at him. The noise of thudding feet didn't register to the juvie until two pairs of hands grabbed the simple fabrics of his clothes and hauled him away. The shield returned to position in the wall as if nothing had happened and continued to hold true under the unceasing hail of missiles and stubber rounds. The dull crack of a laspistol followed after a short, sharp very one sided conversation.

The Proctor looked through the vision slit of his shield to the crowd. The vox-horn coughed into life as the ground rumbled behind the line. "Proctor Serganius, this is Castigator TA-23, rolling into position, awaiting your order." The Proctor growled back as another hail of rounds sparked across the adamantium shield. "Castigator TA-23, you may fire at will, full dispersion pattern." The low drum of thunder pounded into the air. The vehicle launched grenades in an arcing trajectory into the riot, many were take-down grenades, permeating the air with arid gas designed to cause coughing spasms within its victims, but little lasting damage. The built-in respirators of the Arbites protected them from the gases most dangerous effects. Only the horrible smell of the tainted air got passed the filters.

"Sun's coming up!" The Castigator called too all the Arbitrators who by reflex looked away from the crowd. The photon-flash grenades burned bright as they raced over the shield wall. Dozens of perpetrators were immediately blinded, some permanently. The scream of the crowd overtook the machine-grenade launchers eventually as more and more grenades of either type landed into the unrepressed mob.

"Forward" The Proctor deftly ordered with another grim look out into the unruly horde as the bombardment ceased to facilitate the advance. As they stepped over the fallen bodies and weeping citizens, they were cleaned up and hauled towards the Arbite rear line by dedicated teams of Cadets.

The idling Rhinos and Chimeras sat prepared should the riot turn militant and direct lethal action be required. Several teams of bolter-armed combat teams stood ready to support them should it be necessary. Sniper teams were stationed on the lower rooftops and were actively attempting to find a seemingly invisible ring-leader, so they sat prepared to fire but not doing so, no use in wasting ammunition on the cannon fodder of the riot.

The mass gathering of people had been slowly but surely herded into this city block after two long, painful hours of riot actions. No one was sure who fired the first shot, the Arbites or the crowd and by that point the rioting public were long past caring, they were riled up and furious about an entire multitude of things from tithes to parking tickets. The Provost had led the combat teams directly to clear up any stragglers.

"Tide incoming!" An Arbitrator roared as the crowd returned to its senses after the brutal barrage of grenades. A war cry raced out from one of them along the lines of "Get 'em!" More in common with Orks then previously decent human beings who maybe would have smiled and said hello to a passing Arbitrator.

The sheer mass of bodies smashed against the shields of the Arbites, the raw momentum would have toppled and bowled over the vastly out-numbered Arbites if it had not been for the reinforcement of the line by almost three score nearby Cadets and Arbitrators. The shouting became a simple continuous note of unintelligible babble to some of the Arbites as they countered the horde as they smacked into the unrelenting shields like a wave against a beach.

"Hold!" The Proctor roared as his shield shuddered and rattled but held true nonetheless. He threw himself against the horde to hold them at bay. "Hold!" He roared again as more and more pressure was pressed against the Arbites. The Castigator fired a few more photon-flash grenades but it was almost to no use. The sheer inertia of the crowd meant even if blind, the mass would still move in the direction of the Arbites.

"Hold!" He ordered again as he felt the ground scrape underneath him, inch by painful inch. The Proctor looked to the pained expressions of the Cadets as they pushed with all their might. The Arbitrators held firm, not one falling to the onslaught of raw force being exerted on them.

The time was near, the momentum couldn't hold forever, and when it dropped or sagged, it would be time. The Proctor reached with a quick hand to the shock maul at his waist. "Prepare Arms!" He shouted as he pressed the activation rune. The weapon buzzed into life as he readied it. The other thirty or so Arbitrators that formed the shield wall that completely blocked the road complied.

There was a very minor drop in force, and to the Proctor, not a moment too soon. "Push!" He shouted and the Arbitrators obeyed. Each step was agonisingly slow, the momentum was gone but the weight behind it was still there.

"Shields!" The Proctor ordered with a tinge of enthusiasm. As one the Arbitrators clicked on the shields 'suppression' feature. A variant of the refractor fields favoured by Imperial Guard officers, only instead of protecting the user, it lashed out with stunning bolts of electricity at whoever closed on the outer face of the shield. Immediately almost a hundred gangers and civilians jerked back, some dropped to the ground and some were pushed into the welcoming embrace of the Arbite's suppression field. A few died as their bodies were overloaded with electrical power, causing some to just drop dead. The crowd's morale, at least at the front, broke. They tried to turn and run from the now advancing localised lightning wall.

"Suppress!" The Proctor roared as he jabbed out with his shield to fell a miscreant who didn't get away in time. The suppression field combined with the sheer blow from the adamantium shield smashed opened the fragile skull of the perpetrator, felling him dead. The other Arbitrators followed by example and training. They rammed and sundered the retreating frontline as they collided with the pressing hordes still coming. It was a slaughter. Those that survived the suppression field and the furious ramming of the shield itself, soon found themselves crushed by the sheer weight behind them. Others died under the feet of their retreated fellows or under the heavy boots of the Arbites.

"No Mercy, No Quarter, No Retreat, Only Justice!" The Proctor yelled as he brought his maul into play, bringing it down on the first ganger that looked like he was going to put up a fight. The metallic rod impacted on the ganger's shoulder hard, the blow alone would have broken the collar bone, the electrical discharge only added insult to injury by flash frying the skin around the impact. The raised fist of the ganger dropped limply as the mind lost control of the appendage. The face of the ganger turned from a mask of rage to a mask of fear in that instant, the follow up swipe of the maul turned it to a mask of blood as the maul broke the cheek bone soundly.

"Havoc!" The Proctor cried the code-word to the handlers at the rear near the Rhino's over the vox. The Proctor leading the Kayninez squads nodded and looked to his own Arbitrators. Each of the four held in their hands a laspistol and four tense heavy grox-hide leashes. At the ends of those leashes were some of the fiercest animals the Proctor had ever seen, Frenzon-filled cyber-hounds. Each was salivating as the fury-inducing drug pumped around their systems. The Proctor held a single leash himself, holding the seemingly more docile cyber-bullmastiff. But the Proctor knew that if he uttered the simple words, the dog would fly into a ravenous rage. Each of the dogs had been both cybernetically and genetically altered to bring them to the uncompromising standards of the Adeptus Arbites.

The Proctor kneeled next to his partner, his own hound. He pointed towards the riotous mob. "When I say, sick 'em" the Proctor grinned at his ruffled the fur of his long-time friend. The dog panted back and licked the gauntlet that held a meat chunk in front of the dog. The meat was laced with the taste of blood to acclimate the loyal hound to the coming action. The Proctor looked to the front. The Cadets and non-Suppression Arbitrators had backed away to allow the Kayninez to attack. The Arbitrators had followed their Proctor example and were now engaging the rioters in mêlée. The occasional bolt flew through the appearing gaps into the mob.

The Proctor stood and looked to the others who were barely holding on to their charges. "Release!" The Proctor cried as he let go of the leash. The others followed suit an instant later. The hounds ripped out towards the horde of unruly citizens.

The dogs howled and roared as they leapt into battle beside the Arbites. They bit and tore at the civilians and gangers, the sharpened teeth sliced easily through the simple overalls that most the rioters wore. Many fell backwards when hit by almost a hundred pounds of meat, teeth and metal. Some stayed conscious into the attack long enough to scream as the vicious dogs mauled at their chests and faces. As each criminal became submissive or rendered unconscious the cyber-hounds were trained, despite the Frenzon flowing in their veins to move on to the next target. The Bullmastiff, was almost the leader of the dogs, he was the first into the battle and was flanked by his 'squad' of the four biggest Kayninez in the entire team. The combined squad of dogs took down one ganger after another, they helped Arbitrators who were surrounded or locked in a grapple fight with the rioters.

The snipers started to plink away at the rear line of the charge. The rounds killing two, maybe three with each shot. But still more came, regardless of the losses from the main body of the riot which now found itself under attack from five separate directions along the block by the Arbites.

All restraints were off; the rioters had plenty, more than ample opportunity to break off and go back to their hab-blocks. But they persisted in the looting and the violence against anyone in their path. The gangers in the crowd had done little more than incur a larger force of Arbites to defeat them then usually prescribed. Arbitrators and other teams had been called in from almost three other levels over the last two and a half hours.

Serganius led the Arbitrators by fighting deeper and deeper into the rioters. His shield, maul and boots were stained red. He had to fight down the rising lust for battle; this should be a grave duty after all, not something to make light off. As he and his squad mates laid into the innumerable gangers and civilians with maul and shield a cry ripped across the vox followed by a simple message, "Corvus is down! We're being overrun here!" An Arbitrator called off too Serganius' left. A desperate glace revealed nothing, the curtain of black armour, whirring mauls, stabbing knives and dirty overalls obscured his view.

"I have a sighting" One of the Snipers called, "I'll cover best I can from here, get him out." To enforce the point several rounds speared through the horde in no real order, just killing them to provide a retreat path for the wounded Arbitrator. The cyber-hounds again came into play here as they bit and barked their way through the crowd towards the fallen Arbitrator as per their training, their built in auspexes allowed them to find the homing signal for Arbitrator Corvus.

They found the source of the signal and bit onto the armour, the teeth allowing them purchase on the carapace armour. As two of the dogs dragged the fallen arbitrator out, the three other leapt forward. They growled and bit at any who got to close. The fallen being a higher priority than the law-breakers at this point.

The two dogs were aided by two members of the combat team that was providing support fire. They patted the dogs to thank them as they hooked their arms under shoulders of Corvus and lifted him up; there was a lot of blood and Corvus himself wasn't making much noise save short, shallow ragged breaths.

As the two hoisted the Arbitrator towards the waiting medical team, one of them caught a glimpse of the shield, great claw marks adorned its surface as if he had been attacked by some sort of wild beast, now that was entirely possible if the Suppression-Arbitrator had just returned from rural duty, such beast did live in the forests around Hive Lucius, but the fact that both the armour bore similar marks around the great wound on his stomach and the fact that the Arbitrator knew of no beasts that made claw patterns like the ones on the shield and armour.

The two hoisted the wounded comrade onto the metal stretcher and after a nod from the attendant Arbite; they turned and returned to the fight.


	9. Aftermath

"Two hundred and fifty three dead, thousands more wounded" The pict-screen blared "civil unrest and protest leads chaos through the streets into the so-called protective light of the 'most benevolent' Adeptus Arbites, however, today's events have started to bring to the front that the light is becoming an oppressive shadow."

Thall and Cairn stood in the main pavilion area in the centre of the residential area in the precinct. They stood under the media-totem that was erected in the centre of the circular room. On the totem there were almost a dozen pict-screens, vox-speakers and other multimedia equipment for use by the off-duty Arbites. The two Arbites where stood with their crossed as they watched the images on the screen go from bad to just plain worse. Their faces taut in a hard expression as the greying man on the screen jabbered on.

"Early estimates put the number of unlawful executions in triple digits, Provost Krael has refused to comment and so we are left with the images of the aftermath and the words of the survivors of this massacre." The screen changed to show the detritus of the riot. Windows smashed, burning ground-cars and dozens of bodies littered the street. Many showed the tell-tale signs of maul hits. Cairn groaned as the camera switched to a woman weeping over a body.

The reporter's voice started over the image. "This single-mother has lost her only child in a flurry of senseless violence; coroners claimed the death was by an Arbite Executioner round. The boy, aged six and ten years, had come to the final with a group of friends." The image jumped to a clearly ruffed up young man whose sky-blue robe was covered in dust and grime. "He wasn't causing any trouble; we were just trying to get away. A...An Arbitrator told him to lie down but before he could he... he just dropped after a horrible noise" The boy started to well up and Cairn turned away. Thall reached up and turned the screen off before it could continue the parade of defaming images.

"Fraker" Cairn hissed "How dare him!" Thall looked to his friend with a worried look. "Defaming an officer is an offence, why wasn't he arrested!" Cairn continued as his fists balled up. Thall sighed; stupid decisions had caused this, probably an inexperienced Arbite or just a simple misunderstanding. Perhaps the kids were lying and they were actively fighting, who knows.

Regardless, all Thall knew now was that the public image of the Arbites on Tercius was damaged by the riot. The speed at which it grew and the amazing degree of coordination between the two massive groups had forced a firm hand, Thall rubbed the bridge of his nose. Perhaps the Provost had been to rash to order such decisive action against such a varied crowd.

"Their calling it excess Arbite brutality, it seems they don't understand the whole deciding of guilty and punishment bit." The serene voice of Felicia said as she closed towards the two, her dark body glove changed in favour of an off-duty shirt and slacks.

"Brutality?" Cairn wheeled around, his face turned a further shade of red by the second. "Yes" the Detective nodded "They are saying that we overstepped our bounds-" She was cut off by an angered roar from Cairn "Overstepped! We enforce the law! As laid down the fraking Emperor Himself! And those frakers broke it!" He fumed "If _they_ think that the Lex Imperialis is debateable then they are in for a shocking surprise" He continued until he was silenced by a hard glare from Felicia.

"Please Arbitrator, don't rant at me, I agree with you." She looked to the blank screen "There is very little we can do about it" She sighed. Pelmann, the man who had delivered the report and the news corporation he was part of were a sub-division of the main Adeptus Mechanicus contingent, they supplied almost sixty percent of media coverage on Tercius and usually they were respectful about what they broadcast, though it was obvious that the slug known as Pelmann had some sort of vendetta against the Arbites, who couldn't get to him due to the Mechanicus badge he could hide behind despite the numerous request to have him taken off the air.

"Getting off such a delicate subject" Felicia sighed "I need to talk to you two" Thall walked forward and tried to look attentive, though he really wasn't feeling terribly talkative at the moment. "In private" she added. Thall was immediately perked. She glanced towards him again with the same sly smile. Again he mentally hit himself for thinking such things.

She led the two towards a seemingly unused office. Detritus of discarded papers and data-slates were stacked up in mismatched piles and wrappers of various foods were cast near the disposal bucket in the corner of the room, some where even in the bucket. The old smell of recaf assaulted the two's senses as the Detective pushed open the door that had a smoked glass window with the letters 'F. Calamar' in bold type face.

She waved the two towards a set of seats in front of her messy desk. She smiled sweetly as she sat in front of them, despite the mess, the room still felt warm and accepting, probably helped to no end by the general psychic field projected by Felicia.

"Now, I have asked you hear to talk about the mutation you discovered." The Detective asked as she tapped on a data-slate.

Cairn leaned forward in his seat "Most of what I remember is in my after-action-report" The Detective nodded "I know, I've read them." She rubbed her neck "But I want your direct, unedited, emotional recollection of the event."

Thall looked to the face of the Lucius Angel; her face barely contained a laugh. "Just your recollection will do" She smiled "Unless you need to a cuddle."

Thall went over his thoughts of the mutant to the Detective "-despite amazing agility and strength, their endurance and durability leaves a lot to desire. I suspect a selective mutation program behind it." Felicia was scribbling away on the slate with a stylus in one hand and a delivered cup of recaf in the other. Her eyes locked onto the Arbitrator as he finished. "Like a mutant cult?" Thall nodded "With an overarching plan to perfect their mutations?" again the Arbitrator nodded. The Detective hummed as she wrote the thought down.

Cairn looked to his friend "What about the coordination?" He switched his sight between the two. "They flanked, attacked, fell back with unerring precision." Cairn shrugged, "If it hadn't been for those big guys, we may not be having the conversation."

"Why is that?" Felicia raised an eyebrow. "Well" Cairn started "The gangers had both numerical and positional superiority , they would have had us if those muscle-bound nutters hadn't charged in and distracted the purples crazies."

"Purple crazies? The gang's colour you mean" Felicia remarked. Cairn shrugged "I haven't come up with a witty name to register them with, purple crazies seemed good enough."

Felicia agreed with a slight nod. "However they are the gang with the mutations, so I'm sure they'll get an official designation soon enough."

Cairn leaned forward "May I vote that it contains the word crazy? You must have something wrong with you to sleep next to a fusion reactor." Felicia hummed again "I'd guess it would be warm if nothing else."

She noted a few more things before looking back to the two. "Thank you lads, I'll get back to you when I figure something out."

The two Arbitrators stood, saluted and left. Felicia looked over the notes she had collected from the dozens of personnel she had interviewed over the last few hours, from the Arbitrators to the Medical menials.

Each of the Honour guard had referenced a woman in the Representative's retinue who had freaked out before the attack. A woman she couldn't get access to without going through the Governor's staff.

The cogitator whirred as she punched the data into it. It threw the facts at a wall metaphorically to see what stuck. A few lines of code danced on the screen before the cogitator returned something legible.

Felicia's brow furred as she read the words 'Classified'. "T-y-r-a-n-i-d" she continued on through the data "Genestealer" she said quietly. As she delved further into the data, her eyes widened with terror.

... ... ... ...

"Milady" An aide spoke to the representative as amber-honey waffles were served to the red headed lady. She looked to the well-dressed manservant. "A member of the Adeptus Arbites is here to speak with you, she does not have an appointment" the aide bowed low as the Representative nodded to allow the Arbite in.

The gilded golden halls of the palace surrounded the Representative as she took breakfast in what the audacious governor called the Hericius room. Facing north was a wide balcony looking over the upper-level that sprawled out below the palace and its adjacent gardens. The tables were made seemingly of unbroken white marble. On the walls hung portraits of former planetary governors and the faces of valiant Generals and Commanders of Tercian Imperial Guard history. The chairs were, to the Representative's trained eye, nalwood. A substance that had become very rare due to the loss of supply, the chairs were probably centuries old and perfectly preserved in the personal reserve of the Governor, whom had brought them out of storage to impress the Representative. She smiled as she bit into the doughy food. It wouldn't hurt his chances she thought.

A minor cadre of handmaidens stood dutifully at the edge of the room ready to receive the Representative's orders. The maidens all wore simple robes marked with the crest of the Governor; their hair was pulled back into long ponytails and their eyes were cast down to the floor. They remained silent even as the sounds of feet echoed towards the room.

The door was carved with even more graven images of the Emperor and nine other giants. The Representative looked over the nine, she smirked. It was highly unlikely that, judging by their first conversation, the Governor would be able to name any of the nine giants that stood at the Emperor's side.

The sounds of the footsteps stopped outside the door and the noise was replaced by a rapping of knuckles on the great door.

The door creaked open as a handmaiden poured a glass of sweetened amasec for the noblewoman. She cast a serene glance over towards the opening doorway. The aide was stood unimposing in the doorway. He bowed low, "Milady, may I introduce Lady Felicia Calamar, Detective of the Adeptus Arbites." The black robed officer passed the aide with a smile and a nod to the aide. Her off-duty clothes replaced by her usual work clothes, an armoured body glove with a thick black cloak, her two bolt pistols remained in their holsters.

The Representative stood and nodded respectively to the officer who in return bowed low. "Thank you for your time my lady" The Detective said with a tone of reverence.

"Oh no, to aid the Arbites is always a worthwhile pursuit." The Representative indicated a free nalwood chair for the Detective to sit but she refused with a curt hand gesture. The redheaded woman smiled regardless and returned to her exquisitely prepared breakfast.

After a moment of silence the Detective took the unsaid sign that she should start. "My lady, as you are aware, there were some...disturbances yesterday."

The Representative cast a dim glare at the Detective "I am not blind to the universe around me Detective; I have been made completely aware of the civil disturbance." She paused as she chewed a bite of waffle. "A rather bad piece of business that." The Detective looked away as the Representative mentioned the riot. Felicia remembered the sheer anger from Cairn over what happened, despite the words he said, she could feel his disgust at the situation as a whole.

"My apologizes my lady, I meant no disrespect" Felicia half-bowed, "I was merely prefacing my reason for coming before you today."

The Representative "Allow me to presume" She took to a long sip of her amasec. "Your men reported one of my bodyguards acting strangely." The Detective nodded.

"That is among one of a few questions I wish to ask you my lady." Felicia checked the data-slate at her waist. Before she could she was caught off by a simple hand wave from the Representative. The redhead held the Detective in a sharp glare. She shook her head slowly. Felicia nodded knowingly.

The Representative stood; her white dress fell around her magnificently as she turned away, leaving the food left half-uneaten on the table. She began to move away, towards a door opposite the one Felicia walked in. That door was less ornate than the main entrance, instead of the Emperor and nine giants, they were replaced by what looked like rank after rank of soldiers all standing proud.

As the Representative moved towards the door, a young pair of maidens pushed the door open with a bow as they did. The Representative waved the Detective through after her. Felicia moved forward with an air of stiffness. The heavy boots of the body glove stomped down on the marble floor leaving dusty marks on the previously peerless white surface.

The Representative waved the maidens to a halt as they attempted to follow her. Even the two finely dressed guardsmen that were usually tucked into the corners of the room were stopped by a simple gesture. They hovered for a second, unsure of how to proceed, the governor's orders were clear; as was the threat of punishment should they fail to protect the Representative.

The Representative gestured for the Detective to walk beside her as she walked. The fair haired Arbite fell into step with the noblewoman. As they moved from the earshot of the maidens the Detective listened while the Representative started to talk.

"I must question, why does that reporter remain in the pict-screens, he said some horrible things about the Adeptus Arbites?" The Representative questioned as the two walked through the portrait laden halls. More stringy old men stared mercilessly outwards towards the two women.

"Pelmann?" Felicia asked and the Representative nodded. "My lady, Mister Pelmann is an agent of the Adeptus Mechanicus." The Representative looked on with eager eyes, as if she didn't really know what that meant.

"The joint unification of Terra and Mars to create the Imperium is a complex thing my lady, despite the implications the name suggest, the Mechanicus remains a separate entity in terms of the laws and rules. Though we stand shoulder to shoulder in war, we stand far apart in almost all other matters." The Detective explained as simply as she could. In truth the theological and multi-unilateral matters where astrological in comparison to the line the Detective trotted out. "We, the Emperor's Adeptus Arbites, have no authority over the Mechanicus at any level, hence Mister Pelmann is still able to produce his reports" Felicia bit back the bile and venom from her tone as she finished.

Despite the current face the Representative was projecting, the reports form the honour guard showed almost unanimously that the Representative was more then she was letting on.

"Oh" the redheaded woman breathed as she put her hand in front her mouth. "They have their own laws" The Representative said as if she was shocked to the core "They reject the mighty Emperor's own laws." The Detective had to sigh inside. "They are allowed to worship a clockwork version of the Emperor, but they do not bow to his word." She seemed saddened by it and again the Detective groaned silently.

"Felicia was it?" The Representative asked as they continued down the obscenely long hallway.

The Detective nodded "Yes my lady." The Representative smiled sweetly. "I am Mary, Mary Lognus of the Adeptus Terra" The Representative mimicked a curtsy. "The 'milady' thing wears on you after a while." The Detective stored the name mentally and nodded politely. Her 'sniffin' sense, the technical name for her psychic abilities, felt the warmth of honesty radiate from Mary, as if she thought it was a major thing to tell a, in comparison, low level hive-worlder your name. She mentally sighed again.

"I suppose your here, not to speak about the horrible acts of slander, but with my astropath Relena yes?" Mary questioned as they reached the end of the corridor, a far plainer door welcomed them, and it was still twice the height of either of them, as if the builders expected Astartes to walk these halls.

"Yes My- Mary" Felicia stumbled "I believe she may have some information that could lead to discovering the mutant cells that attacked your entourage." Felicia dared not tell the Representative the implications if any of the facts she uncovered proved true.

"The Shadow?" Mary said incredulously, as if it were something she had seen in a holo-drama. Felicia perked up to that, she only got to see those documents due to an office arrangement that allowed her to use the Inspectors authority. But then again, a representative of the Adeptus Terra probably out ranked her in terms of authority and classification.

"It hungers" Mary said as she pushed open the firm door with a steady hand.

Felicia Calamar walked into the inner sanctum with slightly caught breath, instead of the main room she entered into the antechamber of the inner sanctum. The tight hall expanded into a large, wide opening. Several tables where spread out over the carpeted floor. The bodyguards and a handful of others in administratum-style robes looked up from their desks.

On one desk was a full gun cleaning kit, as evidenced by the two bolt pistols and a laspistol that were taken apart on the table. A tech priest was stood over the guns. He clearly was a Mechanicus judging by the sheer volume of augmentation and cybernetics. The crimson robe flowed down the silvery skin of the priest; it rippled as the Tech Priest looked up. The augmetic eyes whirred and focused as they analysed the Arbite, after a moment he went back to the weapons.

"Don't mind Charon" a fair-haired man said as he walked forward towards the two. Felicia smiled as he offered his hand; she took it and tried to shake it. However when she gripped his hand, he turned her hand and brought it to his lips. "He doesn't play well with others" he grinned "Names Jonas Agrippa, aide-de-camp to Lady Lognus." He smiled devilishly. His face was peerless. His sharp eyes radiated a cool ease as Felicia looked into them, she couldn't drag her own eyes away from his.

"I play just fine" The raspy voice of the Tech Priest broke the locking of eyes. "I have a better use for my time than small talk." Jonas nodded to the Adeptus Mechanicum representative. "See what I mean?"

Felicia chuckled slightly. Her Arbite mind was sat, glaring sternly at Felicia as she laughed.

Mary stepped forward with a slight smile "You'll excuse my aides" She sent a raised eyebrow to both of the men. Agrippa smiled back to the redheaded Representative. The Tech Priest, if he had any reaction was hidden under the mask of metal that was his face.

Mary looked to the other who had gone back to the piles of data-slates and papers they were working through. "Relena, could you come over here please." She said to the room, after a moment the Tech Priest spoke up

"Lady Relena has exited the sanctum approximately thirty-nine minutes ago."

To this the Representative rubbed the bridge of her nose. "A moment Detective, I know where she's gone." Mary pulled away through the antechamber. The Representative disappeared through another set of doors.

Felicia was stood among the aides, servants and assorted others. Excluding the Administratum drones and the myriad servitors and servo-skulls, there were about fifteen people overall. The distinct smell of tanna tea mixed with the smell for high-grade recaf. The number of slates that were piled up on each desk rivalled her own number. Felicia thought to the amount of work required to inspect an entire planet's worth of data, judging from the number of slates stacked up at the edge of the chamber, it looked like they were looking through the raw data before the Governor's executives changed the meanings of the words and numbers.

The whirring of servos overruled the scribbling of the styluses as the Tech Priest Charon continued his work of maintaining the firearms. Jonas returned to his own table. The pretty young man leaned back and stretched in his chair, showing his intense boredom that brought another slight grin to Felicia.

The bodyguards, or what Felicia interpreted to be the bodyguards based on the Arbitrator's reports, where sat busying themselves with data-slates as well. The leader, the raven haired woman as described in the reports, was busy flipping through a slate with her feet propped up on a desk. Her plasma pistol was lying on the desk; the charging chamber was dull indicated the weapons status. There was an atmosphere of tense determinism in the chamber. Each of the entourage was working hard in their search for whatever it was they were looking for. Felicia stood around for a moment before Charon moved toward her. She politely smiled and moved out the way of the metal man.

"Drink?" The Tech Priest rasped to the Detective. She found the entire question a little strange but not off putting.

"Heavily." She smiled. "Recaf if you have any." A snort came from the nearest bodyguard. "A small river's worth."

The Tech Priest maintained 'eye' contact as a pair of mechadendrites snaked from under the heavy red cloak towards a table laden with bowls, heating stoves and kettles. The labelled tins that contained sweeteners, tea leaves and the recaf beans were open the air.

Felicia gave the working Tech Priest her preferences and watched in minor amazement as the machines worked with unerring precision, she had seen a Priest take apart a Rhino's engine block with similar grace but to see it applied to the steaming liquids was a small wonder in itself.

Felicia took the steaming bowl of liquid from the proffered mechadendrite. The brown liquid swirled slightly as she brought it to her lips. The liquid rushed down her throat smoothly. It made a definite change from the recaf the Arbite was accustomed to which came in the two differing grades.

The first grade recaf was easily likened to tasteless lukewarm water. The other, second grade was easily a substitute for molten tar in taste and texture. Of the two Felicia preferred the second one, at least it felt like you were drinking something. However, that suddenly had a new contender from this simple ceramic bowl. She allowed herself a moment to taste it before swallowing. It was indeed high-grade. She thought for a moment of pocketing the tin when no one was looking.

She opened her eyes to see a similar bowl in Charon's mechadendrite embrace. She mused for a second as to the meaning of why, the Tech Priest had no visible mouth to which to drink from the bowl. She watched intently as the Tech Priest raised the bowl to his head, only to see Charon's hand come up under his chin. The metallic fingers fiddled with something she couldn't see and a moment later a small, clear pipe dropped down. Her eyes must have widened as the pipe turned brown as the liquid rushed up, as Charon chuckled, or at least what the vox-speaker allowed.

"It is one of the few human pleasures I allow myself" The Tech Priest said as the liquid continued to drain from the bowl much to the stunned expression of the Detective.

The sounds of footsteps dragged Felicia's attention away from the Tech Priest and to the now returned Representative and her Astropath. The white-haired woman fitted the description of a psyker to a T, The slightly distant eyes and the minor distracted demeanour, as if seeing things that weren't really there. The Astropath snapped out of her trance to look at Felicia. The Detective realised a moment later that it was her sniffin sense, her own psychic abilities that had caught the psyker's attention. The aqua robed woman nodded kindly to someone she saw as almost-kin. Felicia nodded back unsure of the protocol defining the meeting of a full Astropath and a 'sharper-blunt' as some more advanced psykers would call her.

The introduction was cut off for a moment as a giant of a man walked past the Representative with barely a nod to the woman. The man was easily the same size as the Provost if not bigger. The tunic he wore barely concealed a sculpted chest and stomach. The fair hair was hung around the head of the man. As he passed Charon he shot a perfect smile to Felicia. She felt the more undisciplined parts of her mind melt but the strict Arbite remnants held her knees steady. She returned with a slight bow. Around his shoulders was a black cloak similar to the one she was wearing but ever so different, she couldn't quite put her finger on what though.

The giant scooped up a bowl from the refreshment table and made himself a generous amount of recaf.

Agrippa appeared beside Felicia, a little too close for her liking but she allowed it for the sake of politeness to the Representative. "We call him, Lakios, though what his beast parents call him, we have no idea" the Aide smirked.

The giant turned his head and mock-laughed "Very funny" Lakios turned towards the Detective, she suddenly felt very small, he was easily a head and a half above her, and Felicia was a moderately tall woman.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss?"

Felicia's told Lakios her name quickly and politely, unsure of the huge man's accent, a jocular yet strong tone impossible to place.

"Miss Calamar, I am Lakios Darrios of the-" he stopped for a second before starting again "Of the Lady Representative's personal security team."

Felicia leapt on the words with all the eagerness of the Detective she was trained to be. "I don't remember someone like you being mention in the after-action report."

Lakios nodded solemnly, "That was unfortunate, I was on the second shuttle down with all the others you see around you."

Agrippa nodded to confirm it, as did the Representative, if the Tech Priest made any expression on the subject, he wasn't sharing. Felicia smiled to the man as she turned back to the Representative. "Detective, may I introduce lady Relena." Mary smiled pleasantly. Felicia smiled back to the two of them and Relena partly-bowed. "I hope she knows the answers you wish to learn. If I may ask that she remain nearby, I may need to send an emergency communication."

Felicia nodded her agreement to the terms and indicated to the Astropath that she should walk with her. "Thank you for your assistance Lady Lognus" The Detective said as the two left.

The Detective led the Astropath out through to the main pavilion inside the Governor's gardens. At most times of the year they were open to the citizens to tour and walk through at a moderate fee.

The Detective indicated an empty seat in the corner of a recaf bar that was burrowed inside a minor indoor forest just outside the guest house of which the Representative was staying. The upper-level artificial solar-lamp shone down gloriously on the entire mini-city. The myriad crowds chattered among themselves, young couples walked the well-trodden paths of the gardens to the hidden areas. Mothers and fathers guided their children through the trees and small wooded areas.

The occasional patrol team of Arbites in light combat armour waltzed past, the laspistols in their holsters and frozen sweets in their hands. As they saw the Detective they immediately tried to hide them. Felicia raised a judgmental eyebrow despite the fact she really didn't care, the temperature within the high-level was quite high today.

The two women sat in the wooden seats at a quiet corner table. A simple word to the manager and a flash of identification had coerced the manager to ensure that no one would sit near them.

A nervous waitress wandered over at first, a paper pad and stylus in her hands. "Recaf for me" Felicia smiled to the clearly nervous young girl.

Relena shot a glance to the Detective, "Are you addicted to the stuff or something?" Felicia laughed in response "Probably, definitely all that keeps me up some days" The Astropath looked into the menu that she picked up off the table intently for a second.

After a moment the Astropath looked towards the waitress with an intense gaze. An instant later the woman nodded snappishly and walked away with a brisk gait. Felicia cast a raised eyebrow towards the psyker. Relena shrugged with a smile. "Gotta get your kicks somewhere" The pale-haired woman smiled.

Felicia was less than amused, "What did you do to that poor girl?" The Detective narrowed her eyes on the Representative's young astropath.

"I may or may not have placed a fake memory of my order into her short term recall. She'll have forgotten by tomorrow, no harm done." The white haired psyker smiled innocently. Felicia maintained her gaze. The Astropath clearly picked up on the thought drifting around Felicia's head. "It doesn't work on those with more disciplined minds or other gifted."

"Gifted?" Felicia questioned.

"The Emperor's own, those touched by His gift, like you and me." Relena said reverently. "The Psyker gene in all its forms." The Detective sat back and scribbled something on her data-slate. "Do you not feel His strength within you?" Clearly the psyker was referring to the Soul Binding, a staple of the Astropath training regime.

Astropaths receive their training at the Adeptus Astra Telepathica; they are selected from the second ranking of the psykers collected by the Imperium's Blackships, from those psykers whose powers are considerable, but whose mental strength is insufficient to resist the danger of daemonic possession. They must undergo a special process known as the _soul-binding_ ritual, which shapes their powers as well as enabling them to withstand the attentions of predatory warp entities.

Before they receive the soul-binding they receive basic psychic training which prepares them for the process; they also learn to read the Emperor's Tarot, how to cast horoscopes, and the practices of chiromancy and augury of all kinds.

Only the Emperor is powerful enough to perform the soul-binding. Astropaths are led before the Emperor, where he reshapes their very minds a hundred at a time. The psykers are knelt before the Emperor and must endure several hours of agony as the Emperor redesigns their minds, mingling a tiny fraction of His immeasurable power with their own. The Emperor's mind is so powerful that some do not survive the traumatic ritual despite years of preparatory training, and not all who survive retain their sanity. All have their personalities altered to some extent.

Those who survive are almost invariably blinded; some may also lack other senses, such as touch, smell or hearing. However, the loss of their physical senses is generally made up by their increased psychic senses. The process gives the Astropath some measure of resistance against daemonic possession, and the ability for which they were chosen, to send and receive psychic messages.

Relena it seemed, had come out the other side relatively intact, she still had her eyes and other senses, at least mostly intact, though it would be plausible that Relena had restored her youthful looks through augmetics and juvenat treatments to provide a more presentable face to her close companions and the public, as part of the Representative's entourage.

"His strength? Not in the same way I'm afraid, to low level" The Detective admitted.

The Astropath nodded in return. "But His gift must lift your spirits nonetheless."

Felicia sighed as she placed the recaf bowl down, "Remove the Ecclesiarches hypocrisy surrounding the psychic gifts, the 'gift' is at the end of the day, a mutation, plain and simple, a biological mutation as defined by the Adeptus Mechanicum and the rest of the secular authorities who regulate its proliferation through pre-determined breeding pairs, not to say all psyker-gene births are regulated. I am the product of one such assigned breeding." The Detective said clearly.

The Astropath laughed openly. "So says one that has not seen the Emperor's holy light directly, but I see where you thought processes comes from, even if they are flawed."

Felicia sighed to the astropath as she flipped the slate to the questions she had prepared. Those were words you don't want to put to a Adept of the Mechanicum any time soon she thought.

"Lady Relena, yesterday, you reported seeing a 'Shadow', a fact corroborated by each of the Honour Guard and the Representative herself, could you please explain this." The Detective said officially after the waitress returned with the bowl of recaf. Felicia watched as the waitress placed another one in front of Astropath along with a simple platter carrying what seemed to be a slice of coco-cake with cream and akenberries. The psyker had smiled sweetly had motioned for the Arbite to continue.

"The Shadow, for want for a better term... is what it sounds like, a Shadow in the warp." The fork was held between the Astropath teeth while she thought of the correct terms "It's a somewhat common occurrence towards the eastern fringe, beyond Nimbosa and the Empire of Ultramar." The Astropath caught the glance of the Detective at the mention of the realm of the Ultramarines.

"The Shadow suppresses Warp activity, making all activities involving the Warp quite difficult." The Astropath swallowed another mouthful of the fluffy cake slice. "It tends to make my job impossible." The white-haired woman smirked.

The Detective noted it all down dutifully before moving on to the next question. "What causes the Shadow?" The data-file had told the Detective only a tiny amount, she knew the name of the beasts but almost nothing more, hopefully the Astropath could give some insight.

"A Xeno species of unknown origin." The Astropath said with conviction. "That's all you need to know Detective." she added.

The Detective leant forward, looking the Astropath in the eye. "What are these Xenos, are they the same as the ganger we have locked up in cold storage?" The Astropath locked Felicia in a hard stare.

"Much worse" was the grave response.

Felicia thought back to the name she had encountered in the data-file. "What is Leviathan? Is that the species name?" Again the Astropath looked to the Arbite with a glare. She held it for a moment intensely. The Astropath breathed hard as clearly something was happening behind the scenes.

The Detective stared straight back. She was not blind to the level of information she had asked, that after all had been why she asked, she could not defend against whatever Leviathan was without knowing what it was. If the Detective couldn't report to the Inspector and Provost or maybe even the Marshal about what they were fighting, experience had shown time and again that any counter was flawed.

What the Detective didn't expect was for the Astropath to touch the hand of Felicia. The psyker's eyes maintained their now-glazed over look at the Detective.

_'It is too dangerous to speak openly on such a subject'_

Felicia suddenly jerked back, her eyes widened in shock.

_'Don't worry, the Lady has allowed this-'_

Felicia stared at the Astropath as the voice filtered into her thoughts. In a blind panic her free hand flew to the holster of her bolt pistol.

_'Stop, I mean no harm to you or your mind, but the words that need to be said cannot be allowed to be heard by undeserving ears.'_

Felicia fought against every instinct not to yank the weapon from its holster and destroy the psyker. "You can't just force your way into my mind" Felicia hissed uselessly.

_'Why? We're the same, sort of; we're both touched by the Emperor's gift whether or not you ordain the spiritual element behind it. If it would make any difference to you, the Lady Representative has allowed me to lend you this branch of cooperation'_

The eyes of the psyker mimicked a pleading look of honesty; the sniffin' sense was pleased with the feeling that emanated from the young woman. Though Felicia gave little credence to it considering the fact that the Astropath was easily more powerful then the Detective and could probably overwhelm the meagre sense by sheer raw psychic power.

_'Leviathan is not their name, that's is the name of their Hive Fleet, or at least the Imperial designation for it'_

"Then what are these things actually called." Felicia sub-vocalised having never communicated telepathically in any way before now, the entire sequence was incredibly unnerving as it was.

_'The one you have locked up? A Hybrid, more specifically a Genestealer Hybrid, a Pure strain Genestealer is something to be feared and is most likely guiding the mutant cell, but they are, unfortunately, the least of your problems'_

"You didn't answer my question" the Detective reminded the Astropath. The young woman seemed to pale as the voice in Felicia's head began again.

_'The Xenos themselves, they are ravenous beasts known only as Tyranids, a unnumbered horde of carapace, claws and teeth and a insatiable hunger that will know no end. The Emperor's Astartes Chapter Ultramarines barely defeated the first incursion but at great loss.'_

The Astropath removed her hand from Felicia's and sighed loudly as her head dropped for a moment. She breathed deep before returning eye contact with the disturbed Detective. The voice had carried along with it, images, they lasted only a split second but the contents were clear. Worlds stripped clean on life.

"There is hope however" Relena said after a moment. "Corania, Periremunda, Macragge. Each of them a victory against _them_, a list I am thankful to say, is growing, slowly but surely, it is growing."

Felicia looked on at the woman as she regained her composure. "You're not here to inspect our planetary finances are you?"

Relena chuckled grimly "Not just, _Lord_ Macekre has been skimping out on the tithes a little and the Guard regiments don't cover it entirely."

Felicia returned the smile and jotted some more notes down.

"And for the record Detective, I'm more than a simple Astropath" The woman smirked as the Detective's portable vox blared loudly.


	10. Opening Moves

Corbal sat in the makeshift company command tent, a tent was giving it to much credit, it was a simple dark green tarpaulin draped over a shoddy wood framework. The desk was a simple administratum table dragged in by bored looking guardsmen a few hours earlier. The cogitator was placed unceremoniously on the said desk a few minutes later and it was currently going through the raw combat data.

Corbal looked around his hot, uncomfortable tent command post. He silently wished for his cramped armoury administration office again.

His seat was hard and uncomfortable. His chaffing flak armour wasn't helping his current mindset. The sombre Captain sat with his lasgun on his lap. A bottle of cleaning liquid sat open on the desk in front of him filling the room with a smell that would burn the nose of most people. As Corbal laboured away with the cloth on the various mechanisms within the rifle, the smell ceased to bother him.

The bowl of lukewarm recaf sat unattended, staling in the dry heat. The foul mood of the captain had driven off the lieutenants and the gaggle of support staff, even Colonel Kravitz had given the captain his room at the debriefing. The relocation to Mostatia Plaza itself was enough to damper on anybody's day but the tunnel link up was just plain horrendous, it still wasn't clear what happened in there. Corbal knew that he sent a platoon in and suddenly they were down thirty percent casualties.

Lieutenant Jacob had preformed admirably for his first operation. His quick thinking had saved probably more lives than he thought. Each of the soldiers that returned from that mission after the 507th had taken over the watch of the tunnels described what they fought as monsters and beasts. A fact the regimental chaplain, a simple ministorum stand-in until a proper Imperial Guard priest could be assigned from the Departmento Munitorum, leapt on, decrying that it was a sign of the underhive's unrepentant sins and proof of their hideous barbarism. Full of fire and rhetoric, but little in substance, but after today, a little reassurance of what they did was right was enough for the men.

Corbal took no pleasure in the words of the rambling lunatic. He was down a lot of fresh faced soldiers and a dozen of the returning ones were on the verge of full battlefield psychosis. Those dark tunnels held something that he was not informed of, and now his men were suffering the consequences. The Colonel had left her condolences and returned to the welfare of the newly-battered regiment. Overall the Third Company had suffered almost fifteen percent casualties on its first real operation. Most of it down to the line troopers sheer unwillingness to fire on civilians, at least to begin with. The Third had taken easily the most casualties that day, and the tactical forecasters expected the level of violence against the Imperial Guard presence to increase.

In the end of the day, all the fighting had done was bring the Hammer of the Emperor down harder. The gangers were well armed and prepared for the Guard. Corbal sipped the stone-cold recaf.

The underhive was ready for them.

... ... ... ...

**Departmento Munitorum Official Document – Do not alter under pain of punishment**

**Document Type:** After-Action Report [Form 0-245-A34-C]

**Date:** 34~946.M41

**Document Originator:** _Lieutenant_ Jacob Ruthann; Tercian 509th

**Document Signed By:** _Captain_ Jeremy Corbal; Tercian 509th

**Subject/Mission:** Manoeuvres into Lucius Hive Under-level.

**Mission Objectives;**

**Primary:**

1. Secure path to Mostatia Plaza  
2. Secure area Mostatia Plaza  
3. Link up with elements of the Tercian 507th through Eastern Tunnels

**Secondary;**

1. Eliminate Gang presence along route towards Mostatia Plaza  
2. Remove civilian element from Mostatia area with minimal casualties to Imperial Forces  
3. Reclaim Entire Eastern Tunnels

-This description of events as seen and monitored by the officer in question with the benefit of hindsight is truthful as to the extent of the officer in question. -

Convoy deployed from Staging Area 5 at 21:00 Local time. Third Platoon was mounted in Chimera Armoured Personnel Carriers.

Third Company entered into Hive Lucius through mass transport route beta (Waypoint 0) with little infraction from the locals, an Adeptus Arbites Rapid Pursuit squad cleared the gateway and roads just beyond.

Third Platoon was forced to disperse swelling civilian presence at Waypoint 1. I ordered my troopers not to fire on the public despite a precedent order sent from the Planetary Governor to fire at will, First and Second squads successfully removed the majority of civil presence with no notable incident. Third Platoon continued to Waypoint 2.

After arriving at Waypoint 2, I ordered my squads to form a junction cordon (pattern Defence Secundus Cadian-Pattern) to allow First Platoon to move free of interruption.

Shots were fired towards the cordon by previously hidden hostile elements in the nearby hab-blocks. Weapons were identified as Auto weapons, primarily rifles. A number of Las weapons, again primarily rifles, are also fired. First Squad suffered a casualty, Trooper was recovered by my command squad's medic, but unfortunately the trooper died from his wounds. As per their training, the Guardsmen returned fire. Shots from hostile elements diminished for a moment.

Noticeable gathering of civilians begin to move towards the cordon, Sergeant Germaine asks to open fire; I withheld the order for the moment. I repeated the order when our lead Chimera requested to fire.

Individuals within the gathering opened fire on the Platoon. First and Second squads returned fire, Third Squad moved to supporting positions. Fourth Platoon passed through the junction.

The Chimeras of Fourth Platoon fired upon the crowd with their heavy bolters. The gathering is immediately sent into a rage, many charge towards the Imperial lines. I must note that I observed some of the crowd begin to beat each other instead of fighting the Imperial line. I order the Chimeras to draw a 'line in the sand' with their heavy bolters.

The strategy worked, it forced a good majority of the hostile elements back, many not wanting to be hit by the explosive ordnance. First squad pushed forward and started to gain fire superiority over the hostile elements.

I ordered the Chimera to fire directly into the incoming wave after a group bloodlust seemed to overtake them. The group issued a battle cry. Luckily my Vox-Operator captured the noise and extrapolated the cry in file VOX RECORDING 563A45-1.

Several hostile elements were gripped in a 'berserker' like rage and charged recklessly towards the First Squad. Again the training of my Guardsmen shone through and several of the assaulting units were killed before they could engage the squad. Third Squad reallocated their targets to the charging hostiles.

Sergeant Germaine tactically withdrew from the position after directing a trooper equipped with a flamer unit to lay down a wall of fire. This downed another handful of the hostiles. But unfortunately the main bulk of the assaulting force maintained their momentum. I directed my own Chimera to fire on the reminder of the charging force.

The trooper attempted to withdraw. But a thrown weapon, assumed to be an axe hit the trooper. The trooper fell and was overtaken by the hostiles. I ordered a full firing on the squad. Sergeant Germaine brought her squad's chimera into direct fire. The heavy bolters eliminated the hostiles in a few seconds.

Fifth platoon rolled in behind us, they lent their fire to the members of the third platoon. The gatherings on both sides of the junction were driven away through sheer firepower. I mounted my squads with haste to continue the advance.

I noted that Sergeant Mitchell of Second Squad was visible shaken by the events. His squad had been faced with severe fire from the hostile elements.

We moved through the next junction under the protection of Second platoon. Even inside my command chimera I could hear the sheer volume of fire outside the armour plate.

From here on we moved straight to Waypoint 6. We deployed in standard formation under the direct watch of Captain Corbal. He ordered my soldiers towards the eastern entrance to the plaza. Immediately we were assaulted by waves of hostiles.

I directed Fifth and Third Squads to the left of the road and Second and Fourth to the right. First Squad took cover in a nearby groceries emporium and opened fire of the flank of the hostiles.

I took direct command of the Chimeras and directed them to provide fire support for the advancing squads. I ordered the Fifth Squad to move towards First Squad while I directed two of the Chimeras to lay down fire for the advance.

Hostiles overall, form beginning to end were fighting with unnerving professionalism, not to dissimilar to training of a militia unit. They covered each other's advance, sparred with my soldiers for fire superiority etc.

Captain's Note I have recommended to the Tercian Planetary Commissariat that they investigate the status of the Planetary Defence Force drill sergeants and instructors. I don't like the idea that hostiles are being trained in the ways of combat.

After a tense few minutes, the hostiles fell back when faced with a determined advance of Third and Fourth Squads combined with fire support from their respective Chimeras.

At Mission Time 2h:35m. I was summoned to the Company Command Chimera. Captain Corbal had assigned me and my platoon to the daunting task of cleansing the eastern tunnels of hostile presence, presumably from ganger and other degenerates that made their home in the service corridors that were drilled through the rock.

Captain's Note It should be noted that Lucius Hive was originally built into the side of a mountain. Over nine or so millennia, the mountain was mined, refined and eventually eroded away by the constant expansion of the then-fledgling hive.

I will make an additional report for my platoon's excursion into the tunnels.

... ... ... ...

"First Squad, forward, Second take the left and Third take the right." Jacob spoke into the vox-horn inside his command Chimera. The engine thrum pounded in the young man's ears and the lasgun slung over his shoulder rattled against his dull flak armour. The red lighting of the command vehicle highlighted the scuffed edges around his shoulders where he had bundled in and out of the box-like vehicle that day. The hot atmosphere of the rolling vehicle brought warm beads of sweat to his forehead alongside the cold beads brought on by the pressure of command.

The Auspex flickered its display in front of the weary eyes of the lieutenant. The little blue icons of his five squads blinked as they dispersed at his orders; fourth and fifth hung close to the command chimera.

"Tunnel entrance, two hundred sir!" the driver called back through the hold. Jessie Cameron, the 'veteran' sergeant of the command squad, nodded to the driver in absence of any visible reaction from the officer, who was leaning over his auspex and maps. She leaned back in her seat and started checking her lasgun.

The 'veteran' part of her title was completely unearned. She had just been selected for the position because she had outshot Germaine earlier that month. Her job as advisor and aide to the lieutenant was rendered useless when she knew even less them him about combat. All the others - the medic, the special weapon guardsman, the vox operator - all had more to do then her. She counted the number of spare cells in her pouch for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

The powerful armoured personnel carriers roared down the dust, blood and grime covered streets. The few people around flung themselves into doorways and alcoves in hopes of avoiding the gaze of the powerful weaponry that had been barking so often that day. The chimeras split as instructed. The foremost of the convoy, first squad's chimera, mounted the pavement as it filtered through a once-bustling market place. The simple rockrete slabs broke and crumbled under the heavy treads but still the war machine powered on unperturbed.

Sergeant Germaine sat with her squad, her lasgun rocking comfortably in her grip in time to the throes of the engine. Her troopers sat in a tense silence, all of them were young boys or girls, barely out of their teens and thrust deep into a fire of civil conflict. The sergeant was no different but she remembered her instructor's words: she must be an example to her soldiers. And so she was, granite-like in expression and voice. Her own raging emotions made no mark on her face. To shoot a man dead who may have been your neighbour not a year earlier, she shook her head quickly to clear the thought before it could affect her. She was now a Sergeant of the Imperial Guard; her enemies were whoever the Departmento Munitorum said they were, even if they were her kinsmen. She breathed the hot air quickly through her nose. The rumbling of the distant firefight was fading gradually as the six vehicles moved far away from the massacre that was the battle for Mostatia Plaza. The 507th had taken their staging area two hours earlier and now were waiting at their end of the tunnels; the 509th was late.

"First Squad, form a perimeter around the entrance, Fifth and fourth will begin entry." The terse voice of the officer entered her vox bead. She confirmed as she motioned to her soldiers. They responded by checking their weapons again.

The two outrider chimeras swung wide and into the perilous little junction that was the entrance to the multitude of tunnels. It was a simple box junction with three exits leading to the under-city and one that finished in a massive automatic metal door. Just in front of the slightly rusted portal were a pair of checking stations, formerly used for the mining operations that filtered through here millennia ago. But now they had been turned into sleeping huts-come pillboxes for the local gangs.

One such gang was currently residing inside the leftmost stations, firing shots at the poor unfortunates who were attempting to seek shelter in the hab-blocks that were their homes. The twenty or so guffawing psychopaths were so caught up in raking the blocks with fire that they didn't notice as the four metre tall, five and a half metre wide armoured vehicle careened through the wall. The myriad thugs stood in absolute shock as they watched the dull painted vehicle traverse its hull mounted heavy bolter to face them. A short, sharp burst of fire later saw most them disappear into fine red mist. The few still mobile dived for what little cover was available in the stripped-out checking stations. The second burst tore through the toppled tables and stacks of what the crew of the chimera hoped were grox hides.

A third long drawn-out burst of fire raked over the gore-sodden ground one last time, finishing off the last of the gangers. The chimera disengaged from the rockrete structure and moved to deploy its compliment, first squad, around the tunnel entrance.

The vehicle halted with a lurch. The turret swivelled and scanned every possible attack vector. The next two belonged to the outriders which slewed to a halt at the street's edge, cracking the already tortured pavement. Second squad dismounted in good order, their lasguns primed and their sergeant directing several of the squad-members to take the second, undamaged checking station.

The guardsmen spread out; their dull grey armour and black undershirt and leggings contrasted with the powerful overheads that lit the under-level. The sergeant and the vox-operator stayed as an inseparable pair, as the instructors had ordered them to. The Guardsman approached the door with his comrade. They stood on either side of the simple plasteel frame. One motioned to the other; the guardsman nodded and began to count, one, two, and three. He kicked the door in with a firm boot. The two piled in with their rifles levelled at the grim darkness.

Their gun barrels met only a few living individuals. A teenaged woman held three sobbing children close as she watched the Imperial guardsmen with stiff horror, her lips fumbling a quick and rushed prayer. The woman and the childrens' jaws were bloody and red and the teenager had multiple visible wounds scarring her flesh. An old blanket was wrapped around them. Razler, the first Guardsmen, lowered his rifle slightly and tried to smile sweetly as he walked towards the small family.

"It's ok, we're not here to harm you," The private said, trying to sound innocent; he knew the governor's orders, though he did not follow them. The family understandably tried to squeeze further and further into the corner they were in.

The second guardsman, Soran, swept the remainder of the office with a quick eye. The place had seen definite battle. Stuffed behind tables were the distended corpses of fallen gangers and blood splatter blotched the simple flooring. Stubber casings littered the ground around the windows. Soran could see a autogun propped up against a wall and quickly retrieved it. The weapon was a mess; the bolt had been cracked from overzealous pulling, the barrel was jammed with offal and grime, the sights were gnawed at and the stock had been cut away. Soran threw the weapon away, it was useless.

Soran watched as his fellow guardsmen secured the entire area with parade-ground efficiency, the lessons of the tutors still fresh in their minds after several months of sitting in their barracks. He could hear Fourth Squad's chimera rumble up and disgorge its soldiers. The command chimera and Fifth would be here soon and the tunnel assault would begin.

Soran turned back to the now crouching Razler. He was attempting to talk to the young woman.

"Hi." he was trying to turn on the charm, and failing as he had so many times before, "This place is dangerous, you need to leave."

The woman violently shook her head at that. Razler sighed.

"Come on, this place is going to be swarming with Imperial soldiers soon. You have to go."

Again the woman shook her head as if afraid to speak.

"I know this is your... home, but you must leave, I promise you will be looked after,"

The Guardsman watched the young woman's dirtied face as she looked to her children and hugged them closer. She really wasn't going to leave. Razler had to be more direct. He decided a show of intent might help, and reached for a ration bar in his back pocket.

"Here" he vocalised as he passed the simple foodstuff forward. One of the children started to reach out to the bar but his hand was quickly slapped and the child was yanked back by the woman Razler assumed was their mother. He could almost sympathize with their distrust of Imperials; Lord Macekre had not been a fair ruler.

Razler shot a desperate glance to Soran, one way or another they had to remove the small family from this area. Soran moved to flank the cowering family. The woman brought the children in closer. Soran hoisted his lasgun into a passively aggressive stance.

"This area is now under direct control of the Emperor's Imperial Guard, you will be able to return after we have left." Soran growled.

Soran watched the blanket as the family trembled, looking for any hint of a weapon hidden underneath. He started to reach forward to grip the collar of the woman to move her. As he did, Soran noticed something ripple unnaturally underneath the cloth. With a simple gesture to Razler he forewarned the fellow guardsmen.

Soran gripped the blanket and with a hard tug, ripped it from the cowering family. Soran had to push down his gag reflex at what he saw.

The entire back of the woman was a horrid mess of exposed veins and cartilage, and from her shoulder blades coiled two spindly arms that ended in tri-fingered claws. The children, now seen fully, where little better; aside from a single normal arm that one had used to reach for the ration bar, the three each had thin, horrible bodies; a grotesque parody of the human form, like they had been sculpted by a blind man who had only been told metaphors of human proportions. They had bloated legs that ended in talons and two of the three each had extra limbs. One ended in a crab-like claw that looked strong enough to crush metal.

"Mutants!" Razler cried out as he fell backwards in shock, the cry brought two more guardsmen into the room who also recoiled at the sight.

The young woman began to scream loudly in anguish as one of the arms swung out from her back towards Soran. The Guardsman flung himself away as the talon scraped along his thigh guard. His lasgun barked harshly in return, punching into the mutilated flesh of the woman.

Razler loosed a brace of shots also, half-vaporising one of the hybrids and winging another. The other two guardsmen, still stunned by the horrifying sight, stood dumbstruck as the first shots were fired.

Eventually one came to his senses and started to fire, but not before one of the child-hybrids had managed to climb on top of Razler and was now bearing down on him with razor-like teeth. The first shot punched through the chest of the hybrid but to no avail. The teeth found purchase on the collar of the fallen guardsman, who screamed out. The second and third shots punched cleanly through the lower abdomen on the thing, removing it of the use of its legs.

Soran flicked his rifle to fully automatic and clamped his finger down on the trigger. The roar of the lasgun reduced all noise to a single note in the contained space, while the shots ravaged the back of the hybrid. One of its arms were vaporised by the multitude of the lasers. The woman rounded and stood in one swift action, even as the guardsmen's shots dug deeper and deeper into her pallid flesh. She leapt at Soran as his cell ran dry. Her left arm was gone and she had lost most of her chest but she still came running at him.

Soran dropped his lasgun in a panic as he reached for the combat knife strapped to his boot. The weight of the hybrid crashed into him, throwing him to the ground even as the woman leapt on top of him, her hideous claw swiping down and barely missing his head thanks to a knee-jerk reaction that made him duck away from the claw

Soran dug the knife into the waist of the mutant and it squealed. In return the Guardsmen got a very human-like fist to the jaw. The taste of blood whetted his tongue and sharpened his mind. The second stab was to the right bicep of his attacker. The hybrid cried out as the serrated edge cut cleanly through the muscle and bone with ease. The 'human' arm went limp and lifeless as its life juices leaked out. They weren't red, like the haemoglobin-filled plasma of normal humans. Instead the mutant had a black ichor, which stained whatever it touched.

The claw danced down once again and Soran felt the distinct stinging pain as the claw entered his shoulder. In his agony the knife fell from his grip and he howled.

The mutant snarled, baring her needle-like teeth as she lowered her head to his, preparing to take a bite. Soran screwed his eyes shut and hissed a prayer as the hot breath kissed his skin. Only a solid crack brought him back. Willits, one of the two guardsmen stood over him now, with his lasgun in his hands. The steel stock was bloodied and he was wearing a stupid, if slightly worried, grin.

Soran took a quick glance to see the mutant laid out on the floor with a bloody welt decorating the side of her head. Willits stopped grinning long enough to place a deft lasgun shot into the stirring hybrid.

Of the smaller monsters, one of them was very dead; it had collapsed from its wounds and bled out. The second was currently pinned under the boot of the other guardsmen who was lining up a kill shot. The monster bore the tell-tale signs of battle. Half of its skull was ripped away and one arm ended in a cauterised stump. The guardsman's armour was scraped and scarred by his battle with the thing. The last monster, the one on top of Razler, was flailing as the guardsman battled it using his knife and balled fists.

Willits crossed the station in a leap to aid his comrade. He pulled the monstrous hybrid away from the wounded Razler. The Guardsman gripped his lasgun and motioned to Willits.

"Over there?" Willits asked.

"Yeah!" Razler spluttered. Without a further word the thing was flung far away from the two guardsmen and was quickly annihilated by a burst of las fire.

Eventually the office died down, and a moment later more guardsmen piled in with the Sergeant.

"Medic!" He cried as he saw the state of Razler and Soran, "Medic!" He shouted again.

Jacob stood back as the flamer made its presence known. The long gouts of burning promethium torched the structure from front to back. He sighed; already he was down two effectives. They would live, but for the moment they were useless to him as a commander. The medic patched them up the best he could and settled them in the command chimera while the platoon prepared for entry.

"Mutants..." he said to no-one in particular, contemplating their apparent speed and strength, "Frakking mutants."

He shook his head again; he had already voxed in the report to the Captain who had responded that they should proceed as planned. It was known that there was a mutant presence in the underhive, that had been spreading rapidly out of control in the last few years. It was in fact part of the reason why they had moved in the first place. But to see creatures like this to that to his troopers.

"Emperor damn frakking mutants." He said again.


	11. Down and Emergence

The great metal door gave way to the main platform of the old mining operation. The whole area was cleared completely of machinery. Lieutenant Jacob wandered in after Fourth squad radioed in that the area was clear. A thick layer of dust lined the steel floor; several prints unsettled the filth showing that people had been through this area.

Second Squad moved through with caution. The mutants had sharpened their collective wits. Jessie stayed next to the platoon commander. First and Fifth squads spread out to the sides of the great platform. The walls were built of solid rock of the mountain. The overheads of the hive proper were replaced by harsh glow-lamps that beat down on the guardsmen.

After a cursory glance around Jacob easily marked the main tunnel entrances, three set of pressure doors designed to seal in the event of emergency. The ravaged panels confirmed if any doubt remained that people had definitely gotten into to the vast labyrinth of tunnels.

The Chimeras idled outside with only the command vehicle entering the platform. As the engine turned over the smell of stale, dust-laden air took an aspect of the fumes of burnt promethium. Fifth Squad moved to a set of pressure doors without prompting after they completed their sweeps of the former Mechanicum facility if the great cog symbol drilled into the rock was any indication.

The sergeant looked to the lieutenant for the go ahead. Forth moved to another of the doors. Both of those teams would penetrate deep into the service access ways to facilitate the primary link up of regiments, the other two squads would branch off from the main route and secure the surrounding tunnels and remove any hostile presence, with a single squad hanging around the entrance to protect them from any sort of counter offensive from the gangers.

The one last door worried Jacob for no reason other than he had not known there had been a third, his briefing slate only mentioned two, doors alpha seam and beta seam, in reference to whatever they dug out the mountain. The third bore the obvious title of delta seam. The original plan didn't have much room for leeway so he was stuck looking at the door. The Veteran Sergeant stepped forward next to the officer. "The Command Chimera could just keep its turret locked on it; we could deal with it later after the main link up finishes." She said with a shrug. The Lieutenant looked to Jessie. He shrugged nonchalantly. He couldn't bring in more than one Chimera. In the event of a full retreat, if they had all their transports inside the main pavilion then there would be an almighty problem.

"After then." The Lieutenant accepted. He looked to the preparing squads. The guardsmen stood ready and willing to infiltrate, engage and defeat whatever the underhive would throw at them. At least, he hoped they would.

With a deft nod to the foremost sergeant, the plan began. The pressure doors hissed up and open to allow the guardsmen entry. They piled in two at a time, their lasguns raised and actively scanning for hostile movement. Luckily they found none as they began the long descent into the mountain on which Hive Lucius was built.

"Clear" The vox hissed over and over again as Jacob hauled himself back into the back of his Command Chimera. The simple auspex was trying to keep up with the movements of almost forty soldiers and was beginning to show its limitations, the screen flickered and minute distortions rippled across the image. Eventually, when the guardsmen got deeper, Jacob would have to give up on the auspex all together and rely completely on the vox. But by then, he thought, he would in following the troops to meet his counter-part.

"Squad halt" echoed a voice from the vox transmission of First Squad. Jacob turned his attention to it as clearly something had happened; the guardsmen of other squads were advancing as ordered with haste.

"Report" The squad sergeant asked his voice carried by the vox to the ears of the Lieutenant as well as the point man.

"Fork in the path, one goes straight, the other heads right and up at a slight incline." The point man answered as the Lieutenant immediately looked to his map. There was no fork on his map, the seam only went straight.

"The second path looks rough, recently made." The guardsmen added. "By what, can you tell?" The Lieutenant put in over the vox. A moment passed as the Lieutenant checked the map again. "I'm not sure sir, it's pretty dark up there, no luminators, definitely not drilled, looks... chewed, clawed or something. The walls look rough, uneven, looks like teeth marks."

"Chewed?" The Lieutenant sub-vocalised as he squinted at the map uselessly. "What could eat through solid rock?" Jacob rubbed his chin. "Fifth Squad, break off and infiltrate."

"Roger sir, Fifth squad redeploying" The sergeant confirmed as the icons broke off into uncharted territory. To the auspex screen, it seemed as if the soldiers were walking through solid rock.

"Fifth, keep me appraised" The officer said as his eyes darted to the other teams. Hopefully the relays laid throughout the main tunnels would keep contact with the split unit.

Time progressed agonisingly slowly. The Lieutenant felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand as second squad descended deeper into the rock.

... ... ... ...

"How much further" Desolta growled as his foot slipped again on the loose stones as second squad moved down a slope at an alarming rate. The passageway was cramped, hot and humid. The luminator on the bayonet lugs of his lasgun only seemed to go a few feet into the incredibly bad lit darkness before the trail twisted and he was faced with another wall of solid rock.

"Map says... fifty-nine feet." Kravan, the soldier behind the point man noted.

"Dead straight?" Desolta asked with a casual look over his shoulder.

"Yup" was the dull reply.

"So more like three-hundred adjusting for all the twists and – Emperor dammit! – turns." The point man cursed as he slipped again.

... ... ... ...

"Fezzo' keep it going man." The fifth squad sergeant shouted up to the point man as they pressed into unknown territory. Unlike the other squads that had nice detailed maps that told them exactly where to go. His men where almost literally touching their way through.

Whatever had cut this tunnel wasn't following any seam of promethium, or whatever they took out of the mountain. The path was winding and tight, just wide enough for a single guardsman to pass without scraping his shoulders.

"I'm trying sarge." The voice of the young man echoed back. "Gettin' real tight here."

Wonderful, the sergeant thought, he hoped to the Emperor above that they didn't get into a fire fight or even a light scuffle while in these unmapped tunnels. The only thing the sergeant could say for sure was that they were descending; his hive-boy instincts told him that much, other than that, his body was telling him that it was bloody hot in there.

... ... ... ...

Jacob rubbed his chin as the lights on the screen kept blinking and moving, the auspex was about at its limit, the rock of the mountain meant that he could barely see second squad's position any more. With each passing moment the squads got further and further in, eventually the stone alone would mean all attempts to track the squads would be useless save through the vox.

Now, if he could use the CACU (Command and Control Utility) built into the company command chimera, or the auspexes they put into the Leman Russ Vanquisher command tanks he had seen during training. Then he would be able to direct his squad's half-way across the hive. But, he had to make do with basic, general issue, underpowered version.

He felt the weight of the lasgun on its strap, a reminder that he would eventually have to go into those tunnels, those cramped, hot and almost suicidal tunnels.

... ... ... ...

"Patrol Five-Seven, entering area one under-level one." Felicia voxed as her bike dropped over the crest of a hill that occurred in the entrance to the grimy, tormented land of the under level. More than just a physical barrier, it represented the divide in the city itself, the place where the government and general populace would throw up their hands and cover their ears. This was the domain of the true humans that inhabited the hive, a fact mirrored on a hundred worlds within the Segmentum and thousands across the entire Imperium. Downtrodden, beleaguered, hopeless and lost people lived here, and it was here that their baser instincts arose in force, madness and chaos reigned down under the sweltering day lights. But out of the chaos arose a perverse form of order, the order of the gangs. They gave the discarded something to believe in, a place to belong. It would be a beautiful thing if they didn't break the laws of the Imperium and incur the wrath of the Arbites.

Detective Felicia rode with almost twelve other Arbites through the ground-car laden streets, the disenfranchised people watched in half-awe as the obsidian lawmen roared and rolled through the grime covered street, led by a blonde haired woman at great speed. Her skill with a bike matched only by her ferocious pace. She weaved expertly in between four separate lanes of traffic, slowing only slightly, the other rapid pursuit arbitrators were hard pressed to follow her. Perhaps it was her psychic ability allowed her to move so fluidly, or perhaps a skill born of years of experience that some of the arbitrators had only begun to accrue. Either way, they twelve arbites were making best speed to Mostatia plaza, the vox had been clear, the Imperial Guard had found something matching the description of the newly-named 'hybrid', and this was Felicia's case so she was the one who got the call.

In all fairness, Felicia wished to stay in the upper-level, despite the pomp and drawl of the inhabitants, her beginning conversation with the Representative and her Astropath had already revealed some disturbing facts.

As the report came through the vox, Felicia felt a very human chill creep up her spine as the report corroborated her own observations with the hybrid stored in the morgue.

Though part of her enjoyed the freedom that came from the road and the somewhat open air, the memories of past times as a simple Arbitrator pleasantly filtered through her thoughts, her brain automatically controlling the bike as if it were part of her own body, her cloak flowing out behind her as she rode. The auspex built into the mighty machine easily plotted a route and crackled the directions through her micro-bead. She eschewed a helmet partly because for one she didn't have one, and second of all she liked to feel the air as she went along.

Lieutenant Ruthann squeezed his way through the tight gaps in the rocks, his own hiver instincts guiding him aptly, the command squad around him were spread into a line formation, with the medic at the rear and one of the attached guardsmen leading. The veteran sergeant hung close to the officer as they pressed through the tighter gaps.

Jacob kept the lasgun at the ready, hanging loosely in his grip; two of his squads were still mapping the branch-off caves, their progress tediously slow through the even tighter passageways. His eyes kept locked on the luminator ahead of him and the light it reflected off the tunnel walls. Truly the tunnel itself was a sight to behold, a wonder of technology, to dug so far into a natural structure with little visible disturbance to the mountain above, save of course the sixty kilometre high hive, not including the upper spires, for the obscenely wealthy.

He was a few dozen metres out by now, but still another few minutes of careful turns and light steps. A few shards of fabric of the wall showed that some of the steps were more deceptive than they seemed. The heat was rising as the imperial guardsmen descended deeper into the mountain, Jacob could feel the first beads of warm sweat drip from his chinstrap as he advanced towards the meet point.

The officer emerged into the central station after a moment, the troopers of the two squads easily identifiable to the lieutenants' gaze. A soldier stood next to the second squad sergeant turned towards the approaching officer with a quick salute. "Sir."

"Lieutenant Ruthann, third co' Tercian five-oh-nine." Jacob returned the salute as he stepped onto the station proper, as the light from the overheads struck the sergeant, Jacob could see the features of the older man as he examined the young officer, the look of mild annoyance told Jacob what he needed to know.

"Sergeant Daniels, oh-seven, D company." The sergeant listed by rote as he approached Jacob,

"Excellent, where is your commanding officer sergeant." Jacob said as he glance around, aside from the ten troopers bearing 507th markings, the eight troopers of second squad and his own command squad, he could see no-one else. The silence lingered heavily, only broken by the light taps of the soldier's boots.

"In the couch of a Leman Russ Vanquisher sir." Daniels noted, "I am your contact."

"Excellent." Jacob said, slightly surprised, he gone down there expecting an opposite number, not a proxy.

"If I may sir." The mechanized sergeant started, his voice level, "Why is it my soldiers, trained mechanized soldiers, are tasked to hold these tunnels, and not the infantry regiment?"

Jacob chuckled nervously, Captain Corbal voicing the same thought earlier at the briefing. "Well," the lieutenant suddenly thought back to the excuse that the captain had passed down from the colonel, and by extension, the planetary PDF command structure that had put together this little operation. "This area is in fact well out of our operational area, but easily within yours, command must have simply allocated these jobs by location rather than by specialisation." He answered weakly. The sergeant sighed deeply, clearly unhappy with the statement, but not willing to push it any further. This was a mistake from the highest echelons of power, well out of the range for the lowly ground pounders to argue without fearing the men with red sashes, even though the two separate colonels had called the allocation useless, no doubt the 509th would have offered to take over the job had it not been for the fact that all their resources would be taken up with other duties.

The tense nature of the NCO grew slightly as Jacob started to turn towards his vox-operator to query the current status of his exploring squads. Up to this point no squad had reported so much as a peep out of these tunnels despite all intelligence labelling the area a gang centre, and that the infantry would have to literally burn them out to secure a firm path through. Jacob noted however, quite reassured, that the second squad flamer operator had stowed the weapon in favour of a standard issue laspistol, probably 'liberated' from the fifth armoury.

As Jacob gestured for the vox-horn, one of the troopers by the main tunnel shouted "Contact!"

... ... ... ...

"Stay where you are!" The guardsman roared down the tunnel mouth as his lasgun was pulled into his shoulder. Jacob turned towards the newly-developed hotspot, his own lasgun humming as he tensed his finger on the trigger and power setting. The mechanized sergeant mirrored the action with his las-carbine and immediately began a string of silent hand commands to his soldiers.

The guardsman was stood tall at one side of the mouth of the rail tunnel. His lasgun pointed straight down into the all-encompassing darkness that was the mine entrance. The luminator hung from the bayonet lugs sent a yellowy-white beam of light down into the entrance, beyond where the lieutenant could see. A second guardsman, opposite to the first soldier, brought his lasgun up and clicked on his own light. The other man by the entrance however kept his light doused as he skulked forward slightly, under the cover of shadow, to cover.

"Hands up! Stand into the light." The first guardsmen roared. Jacob shot a gaze to Mitchell, who was already crouching and brining his lasgun to shoulder in preparation. "Hands up! This is your final warning." The guardsman shouted for the prescribed last time.

"Suspect is incompliant." The guardsmen quickly quipped over his shoulder; he took his eyes off the suspect, a mistake. Before any of the guardsmen could blink, the guardsman was speared by a single ray of crimson light that punched through his chest, puncturing through the flak armour with ease.

The return fire from the second soldier, was almost instantaneously immediate, the harsh bark of the lasgun illuminated the darkened cave in murderous red.

"Sighted!" A soldier shouted from one of the side tunnels, a shout followed by another crack of las fire. One of the mechanized troopers fell as a red light scored across his dour armour. A long, disgusting black mark discoloured the armour from waist to shoulder, a testament to the soldier's reactions. His partner, who was stood on the opposite side of the smaller side entrance, retaliated with a badly aimed burst of fire up the incline, more for allowing time for his friend then any real attempt to kill the attacker.

"Return fire!" The mechanized sergeant roared uselessly as he sprinted towards the main tunnel, the gaping black and flashing crimson maw that loomed on the far wall from the officer and sergeant.

"Second Squad! Move and engage!" Mitchell shouted quickly as he followed his counterpart forwards. The flamethrower-wielding guardsmen, again thankfully eschewed the use of the weapon in preference for his las pistol, the flamer would suck the already swelteringly hot air right out of their lungs in these cramped conditions within seconds.

"Contact, right side!" Desolta cried out as a brace of autogun fire whipped past his head, chipping several fragments of rock and stone from the wall and causing them to fall of the trooper's shoulder.

Jacob made a grab for the vox-horn from the stricken vox-operator of second squad, she was unsure of whether to follow or stand, the lieutenant made that choice for her. "Third platoon, Command and Second squads, under fire, watch your flanks and engage on sight." Jacob hastily shouted into the network, his mind racing for a moment. The crackle of the vox carried the various sergeants' responses after a second but Jacob was no longer listening.

Jessie moved forward while the lieutenant drew up mental plans for counter the ambush. "Markson, Derringer, with me." She called to the special-weapons trooper and another of the command squad guardsmen respectively. The two dropped into step with ease. Jessie grimaced as she looked to the special weapon the platoon command squad had been issued, a standard issue grenade launcher, a weapon far less useful then the flamethrower in these conditions. A frag would probably kill as many guardsmen as hostiles if he wasn't careful, the only thing that made the grenade launcher a viable weapon in these conditions was the fact it wouldn't suffocate them if he used it.

The three reached Desolta after a second to find the point man already blazing away with his lasgun, filling the cramped tunnel with deadly bolts. The three passed the man as it seemed he had the situation there under control; Jessie fired a burst of her own weapon as they passed for good measure however.

"Lot of incoming!" The guardsman at the main tunnel entrance shouted an instant before a red needle burned through the simple steel box he was kneeling behind and passed through the soft flesh of his neck, killing the trooper instantly. The mechanized sergeant reached the tunnel first, throwing himself to the ground as he neared the deadly fusillade of fire that was erupting from the dark pits the descended away from the imperial guard position.

The third guardsman, the one who never used his light however, was alive and still fighting his position, unleashing great red waves of laser fire into whatever he could see moving in the impregnable darkness that seemed to pool further down into the mountain. The trooper gritted his teeth as a stray shot from the hostile skimmed the brim of his helmet, the rifle kicked and barked dutifully in his arms in response, he was sure that his collar was bruised by the rifle butt smashing into it every few seconds, but the area had become numb with the feeling so he kept on going regardless. "Come get some." The soldier hissed as another return shot dug into the rocky ground not two feet from in front of his prone position.

... ... ... ...

"Emperor Above." Arbitrator Carlson sighed as he edged into the gatehouse the mutants had formally occupied. The Guard had burnt the entire interior out. While all fine and dandy from a grunt or even an officer's point of view, but from an Arbite's point of view, it royally frakked things up.

"Ma'am, this place is ash." Another Arbitrator, Karen Ashe, remarked as a former table crumbled as she tried to lift it with the barrel of her shotgun. "I doubt the Technical teams are going to get anything from this place."

Felicia stood in the door while the three Arbites she brought along did the first rummage for anything. The report from the Guard of the mutants had set off a small chain reaction all the way back to the Detective, hence she broke her interview-come-meeting with the Representative. She stood with her arms crossed and a hard look on her face, she sighed loudly.

She glanced toward the entrance to the former mine. A set of Imperial Guard Chimeras were parked up in front with their engines still grumbling away and turrets whining left and right. The Arbites gave the Imperial Guard a good distance, some would say the less interaction between the two organisations the better. Whether by ignorance or purely because of the massive bureaucracy, this lack of communication had erased valuable evidence. Felicia felt a knot of frustration as she glanced over the crime scene again.

"Ashe, Carlson, Kasov, wrap it up, let the techies go over this place, we ain't going to find anything tangible." The Detective said sharply as she stepped out into the harsh lights of the under hive.

She stood again as the other Arbitrators piled out, overall there was about nine of them, all but two, rapid pursuit squad members, requisitioned by the detective for this ultimately pointless run into the underhive.

Felicia tsked as she deftly brushed a stray lock of golden hair from her brow; her sniffin' sense was on overdrive, the feeling of the powerful astropath's mind still lingering on her memory. The words said alone were enough to chill her.

She crossed her arms and sighed audibly. A dead end, another damned dead end. A set of strange wounds from the riot had peeked her interest until the Provost had locked the biological samples for use in prosecuting the riot-leaders. Thall and Cairn – her only two available leads other than the Representative – were reassigned to a patrol route and currently unreachable and she had cut her meeting with the Representative short.

She felt a headache coming on. She rubbed her forehead with a gloved hand and sighed again. She turned heavily toward her parked bike. The steel machine was sat still where the Detective had left it, with two Arbitrators' armed with shotgun nearby, keeping the locals at a decent distance. Felicia rubbed her eyes as the pain in her head increased quickly. Her head felt like it was trying to stop a freight train, her vision blurred and all sound filtered out. Felicia closed her eyes, the pressure on her mind doubled with each passing moment. She cursed silently as the world took on a single high pitched tone.

"Ma'am?" Carlson stepped forward as the detective stumbled slightly, her arm bracing her against her bike, the other two drawing up quickly, each with a concerned and confused look on their faces.

Felicia couldn't hear them, the noise in her head sounded like a million voices all screaming in agony and a dull thrumming roar. She pushed her mind into 'lock-down' as taught by her schola tutors. Her mental defences were clearly overwhelmed. As she whispered the rites and mentally went through the motions. While not traditionally soul-binded, the Psyker had undergone a similar, less deliberating procedure.

Her rites of tranquillity sent silence to the tempest of warp-noise. Her eyes closed, her ears deaf to the world and her thoughts silent.

"Detective!" Ashe shouted as the woman buckled by her mechanical steed, the Arbitrator dropped her shotgun as she reached out to grab the Detective. Her gauntlets gripped handful of raven cloak and her arms felt the weight of the older detective as she fell backwards. Ashe dropped onto her rear as she supported the locked down Arbite.

"Detective! Detective!" Karen shook Felicia as the other Arbitrators fanned out with their shotguns cocked and raised. The slight tremors returned a slight murmur from the woman. "What's wrong?" the worried Arbitrator questioned as she raised herself to a knee to better support the fellow Detective.

The Detective mumbled something as the rites of tranquillity wore off and the higher-brain functions kicked started once again. Though she was slight groggy, the million voices were gone. The rite of tranquillity was a hard, strong and immediate method but not advised as a repeat act, as it was always a shock to the system.

"Ma'am?" Ashe smiled beneath her mouth guard. She helped the Detective sit up while the other Arbitrators swept the nearby area methodically. "Are you hit?"

"Ima fine." Felicia breathed as she rubbed her eyes, the light of the underhive stinging at them for an instant. But the voices were gone. She immediately, sub-consciously replaced her mental defences, a metaphorical stonewall between her mind and the warp, her first line of defence against the malicious spirits that drifted through the ethereal currents, daemons by any other terms. "Jusa' littl' overload or sumet'." She slurred as she tried to stand up with support from Karen.

"An overload ma'am, it completely floored you if I may say." Karen helped the Detective to sit on the saddle of her bike.

"What 'da hell wasat?" Felicia groaned more to herself then Karen. Her head, though silent, was a little sore from the emergency lock down. She made a mental note to never do that again. She'd had some hangovers before but this took the ackenberry cake. The world, while finally still, didn't seem quite solid just yet, like it was two-dimensional though she knew perfectly well that it wasn't. Her vision however was clearing with each passing moment.

"Detective!" An Arbitrator, Carlson if Felicia remembered correctly, shouted to her. The loud noise stung her ears slightly but no enough to really deliberate her.

"I'm fine Arbitrator." She smiled at the black carapace armoured Arbitrator.

"Good to her ma'am, but it was something else ma'am." Carlson pointed to the vast entrance, where the Chimera's were parked. "Imperial Guard, and they have casualties."

... ... ... ...

Chaos gripped the tunnels. The walls flashed crimson and magenta as the Guardsmen battled the shadows themselves.

"Pour it on!" Mitchell bellowed as he ripped the empty cell from his rifle with a single hand, his other arm weakly lying on his lap with beads of blood dripping down it. An autogun round had punched through his flak armour and into his shoulder. The Veteran Sergeant kneeled beside the second squad leader, her own lasgun snapping at the half-lit figures at the mouth of the main mine tunnel. Out from the entrance came a torrent of las bolts and stubber rounds, filling the hall with strobe beams and thundering, raucous cacophony of conflicting fire.

"David!" Mitchell yelled with his voice hoarse from shouting too much already. "Put a base of fire of the left entrance, Kelly, support." As the two troopers whooped their affirmation, Mitchell looked for a second to the Veteran Sergeant, Jessie. Her face was set in a grim resolve, the lasgun kicking into her shoulder every other instant. Her eyes tensely locked to the sight of her weapon.

The Lieutenant stepped forward with his own lasgun tucked into his armpit, his mouth barking noise and orders but amid the chaos his words were lost to the roar of the guns.

Desolta fell backwards as a stubber round kicked the wind from his lungs, the kinetic force hitting him while the bullet was stopped by the flak armour. He bite back a curse as he brought himself up to his knee. Desolta brought his lasgun quickly, unleashing a flurry of crimson bolts into the side passage he was watching. The spears of red punctured into the figure hidden in the half-light of stubber fire. A muffled cry emanated from the smaller tunnel while Desolta threw himself around the steel edge as Kravan pushed himself against the stone-wall opposite, a frag grenade in his hand and a weary grin on his already grime and dust dirtied face.

'On two' Kravan signalled as per their training. Desolta nodded, bringing his lasgun up ready. The two troopers nodded together, mentally counting. On two the two guardsmen moved.

Desolta whipped his head and weapon around the corner, sharp, quick and presenting a smaller target. Immediately he saw the grisly remains of the previous shot, the half-lit figure was slumped against one of the grey walls with a gory splatter of deep red seeping down the craggy ridges and the fine detailing of nature.

However, in the dead man's place, stood another two figures. One enshrouded in the darkness, known only by the backlight of the hall lamps. A hideous figure of monstrous proportions, whether by the cast light or the quick, half-instant glance of Desolta, either way, his reaction was the same. The other was rearing over the dead comrade, the dark robes hid the gender of the wearer but the swirling markings and large bore combat shotgun in their hands.

"Mutant!" Desolta shouted, the report from earlier still raw in his memory. He pulsed the laser rifle in his hands, sending a hail of badly-aimed shots into the walls, the ceiling, the floor and slightly disturbing the robes of the shotgun wielder.

The primitive weapon was brought around as Desolta ducked away, Kravan span in an instant later. "Fire in the hole!" He roared as he whipped his arm around, throwing the dark green cylinder into the tight tunnel.

Desolta yelped as part of the stone beside him shattered into shrapnel and dust. The trooper ducked away instinctively as the razor sharp fingers of rock brushed his cheek. He cursed loudly as he tried to immediately zero in on the shooter. Tracers danced through the air. As Desolta ducked down the words of the drill sergeant echoed in his head when he watched the flickering rounds fly over head. 'Only fools think every bullet is a tracer, for every round you see, there is almost three other bullets you can't see'. Desolta moved quickly to knocked-over mine cart as he tried to find the shooter amid the utter chaos of the firefight, the report of dozens of firearms deafened his ears in the confined space. The detonation of the frag grenade an instant later overrode all of that for Desolta. The thunderous boom shook a fresh layer of rocky dust and shards from the walls and roof, showering the guardsmen – whether they noticed is disputable.

Jacob gritted his teeth hard as he dropped behind the soft cover of another mine cart, he'd spent two whole clips already, though he was pretty sure he had only hit stone and metal most of the time. The bastards were smart, keeping to the half-light or total darkness if they could. He quickly wiped a small waterfall of sweat from his brow as he quickly ran his mind over all his options.

"Vox!" Jacob shouted to his dedicated operator as he looked around, Jessie and Mitchell were on the opposite side of the tracks and in intense fighting. The second sergeant looked wounded but still fighting.

Colath, the Command Squad Vox-operator darted over, moving in a crouched run, from his position near a stack of carts. In a single motion he pulled the small black vox-horn from his webbing and handed it to the lieutenant.

"Charlie-Three-Five, this is Charlie Three Actual." The Lieutenant half-barked into it as his eyes flickered around, trying to make sense of everything in an instant.

"Three-Five here, ready for traffic." The Sergeant on the other end seemed disturbingly calm considering the firefight around the Lieutenant, indicating that his squad was not engaged.

"Where are you?" Jacob asked, bringing up a mental map of the tunnels.

"Currently moving through one of the chewed tunnels sir, we can hear something – deep notes."

"That'll be us, we are engaged with unknown – presumed ganger and mutant forces." Jacob mentally groaned, they were nowhere near.

"Roger that." The sergeant sounded surprised through the hiss of the vox.

"Sergeant, can you backtrack to ASR Rhino and vector to Point Omicron?" Jacob used the technical names for the tunnel path fifth squad had taken and the meeting area.

A moment passed in which the sergeant was silent. As Jacob desperately listened for the replay, a cry came out to the forward of the mine entrance. Jacob turned his head sharply to see one of the armoured fist troopers falling, most of his lower half ripped away by gunfire – spreading offal and a deep red smear across the ground. The fire walked up his chest – blowing out the left side, spraying the mechanized sergeant next to him with splatter and chucks of organs. The sergeant in question responded with a long burst of fire into one of the smaller entrances.

"Sergeant." Jacob hissed into his vox, the reply from the Fifth Sergeant not coming swiftly enough.

"Sorry sir, just lost my rearguard – Marty double back see if the bastard got lost – sir we are oscar mike, unknown time for arrival." And with that the vox clicked off, the lieutenant hearing all he needed to hear.

"Three-Actual to Charlie-Three-One." Jacob voxed Germaine. "Come in dammit!" he hastily added.

"Three-One here, we are engaged, unknown hostiles." The woman quickly responded.

"Dammit, so are we, what is your current position?" The lieutenant sighed heavily. The Vox operator beside him popped up over the makeshift parapet to utilise his lasgun, it barked loudly in the ears of the platoon commander as he tried to hear the response.

"Roger that." Jacob nodded as the First Squad gave a rough estimation as to their location, on ASR Furlong, about thirty metres above them in a sorting area, equally pinned by enemy fire. "Sergeant, make best speed to MSR Delta, disengage and withdraw, platoon must regroup, how copy?"

"Solid Copy Lieutenant, First Squad is en route." The sergeant sounded off in a hurried tone.

"Sir!" Mitchell shouted across the flashing hall to the officer. Jacob turned his head to look the sergeant in the eye. "We're trapped in a killbox here! I got two men down, one is whacked."

Jacob cursed under his breath, the sergeant was right. Still gripping the vox horn the Lieutenant started to turn it on as he shouted over to the Sergeant, "Standby sergeant." Mitchell nodded sharply as Jacob clicked on the vox. "Charlie-Three-Actual to all Charlie-Three foot mobiles, sound off."

The Lieutenant listened hard as the two other sergeants reported, the sound of lasgun and stubber fire making them hard to hear, but the responses were grim. The other two squads were engaged with at least one gunner in the twisting tunnels and Fourth Squad already had three men down, some spectre picking them off one by one.

Again the platoon commander swore. "All squads, hostiles have engaged in force, all Charlie—Three foot mobiles are to withdraw by fire down MSR Terra and ASR Furlong to Rally Point Epsilon. How copy all squads?"

"Wilco!" Mitchell shouted from his position a few feet away. "Second Squad! Withdraw, Kelly, get Mercion up and moving, Desolta! Find me a path out ASAP!" The Sergeant shouted to his troopers. The soldiers for their part seemed all too eager to disengage. The Flamer operator beside the sergeant immediately started to move backwards, his pistol barking with each step.

The mechanized sergeant slid back beside the lieutenant, his face splattered with the dark red remains of his squadmate. "You retreating?" He asked incredulously, "You've got more guys then us, break the hell through."

"Divide and conquer, simplest trick in the book, they hit all my squads at once, unless you can drive a chimera down here, in which case be my guest." The lieutenant remarked breathlessly. "We fall back and push through with a proper force."

The Armoured Fist sergeant growled his disapproval but was powerless to stop Jacob. "Roger that."

"Push push push! Get out of the killzone!" Mitchell barked to the troopers up ahead as he shouldered his way up the tunnel with the vox-operator behind him and the Lieutenant behind them.

"Roger that!" Kravan shouted back as his ears were assailed by the rapid lightning-esque cracks of the Desolta's lasgun as he poured fire down one of the adjoining tunnels.

"Frak them! Just move!" Kravan shouted into the ear of his friend, letting loose a burst as he did.

What was once a slow, methodical march down these tunnels became a mad dash out, Desolta was sure he had cut open his fatigues and was openly bleeding in his hurry to escape, the squad pushing up behind him meaning that the few instances he was forced to stop, to remember the path or empty a clip into a side passage filled with gangers and mutants, where short indeed.

As he dropped the empty cell unceremoniously and slapped home another, confident in the fact that he had either killed or driven them away, he turned and began the mad dash once again, slamming into the next corner as he did. He felt his already abused shoulder scream out as he did but he fought through the pain.

The walls and lights became blurs as Desolta pushed forward, his eyes tearing from the pain from his shoulder, his lungs drawing more breath then they had in years, but still he ran.

"Charlie Three Five, what's your status?" Jacob shouted into the vox horn, the operator running not a foot behind him, bumping into him every few metres.

All the Lieutenant got was the crackle of static.

"Three-Five, what's your status over!" He shouted again as he followed Mitchell up the twisting path.

"The sarge is gone!" The vox shouted back. "We're trapped, massive casualties." The trooper on the other end half-screamed in panic.

"What?" Jacob questioned the alarming news.

"They just came at us, first Carl, then Marty – oh sweet Emperor, Marty." The trooper lamented openly.

"Trooper! Calm down." Jacob hissed, his own nerves on edge and his mind racing in sheer panic.

"We're trapped, they cut us off but they're not advancing. We're trapped. We can't push through; they killed the sarge in a second when he tried." The trooper sounded like he was sobbing. "What do we do, we're trapped and we can hear them."

"Stay cool trooper, you are an Imperial Guardsmen. Do you still have your lasgun?" Jacob hurriedly tried to reassure the trooper, even as he himself was moving as quickly as he could away from the foe that chased them.

While the Lieutenant tried desperately to keep the soldier together, Private Ferris was at the rear, half-walking, half-trotting backwards, the sweat thick on his brow and the lasgun heavy in his grip.

Ferris gritted his teeth as he clamped his finger on the weapon in his grip. The discharge of the lasers turned the dark tunnel red. The crimson bolts were badly aimed; striking stone and rock more than the dark figures that lurked just out of the light. The stubber rounds were few and far between yet they were definitely better aimed then the guardsmen. The guardsmen already sported a deep crease across his cheek; the blood ran freely down his face, he also had another stubber round lodged deep in his left forearm. The arm felt ten times larger, numb and throbbing, Ferris merely bit down on his helmet's chinstrap. He unleashed another burst as the elusive foe. It was like they're waiting for something Ferris thought between instinctual actions.

Ferris backed straight into a rocky wall, yelping as his bloody arm bashed into the wall.

"Ahh frak!" he cried out, tears filled his eyes and his guard dropped for an instant. His face was covered rock-dust as a stubber round punched into the rock beside his head. A shard of rock cut across Ferris' temple, sending another intense stab of pain through the guardsmen. A fresh bead of bright red liquid down the side other side of the guardsmen's face, some seeping into his already tear-filled eye.

In a fit of desperation, Ferris raised his rifle and let loose a burst blind. He tried to move, which caused him to aggravate the wound, sending him stumbling to the ground. Ferris rammed his right shoulder into the rock to stabilise himself. He breathed ragged breaths. He let go of the trigger-grip with his right hand in order to help himself up, staggering up the rocking corridor. Agony racked the arm of the guardsmen as he pulled himself away from the danger.

As he made the second step, his left leg went numb, and a racing pain shook the trooper for a second. Moving the limb became a true effort as he tried to walk away. The momentum of his body didn't match the movements of his wounded leg, causing there to be no support for him when he pushed forward, causing him to fall uselessly to the ground. His throat gave voice to another cry of pain and agony.

Uselessly he tried to pull himself forward with his right arm, slamming against the floor and trying to gain a hold on the dirt, the weight of his gear made such an escape impossible and all he did was rake dirt as he broke down crying.

"Frak..." He breathed as he pulled uselessly on the ground. He could hear the echoing footsteps come like thunder up the rock-hallway toward him. He coughed another curse as he tried desperately to grip his rifle, faltering as his own body weight lay atop the weapon.

_Thud, thud, thud, thud._

Ferris cursed as he tried to struggle to his knees. The pain in his leg burned white-hot in his mind.  
_  
Thud, thud, thud, thud._

He coughed a wad of blood up; he spat it out as he stumbled forward again as his wounded leg gave way again.

_Thud, thud, thud, thud._

He shouldered forward, aiding with his good leg kicking against the ground. His mind raced with a million different feelings at once.

_Thud, thud, thud, thud._

They were right on him. He cursed again as he tried to move again before collapsing, his breaths were short and shallow.

He closed his eyes, his lips moving in silent prayer.

His ears, up still now were pre-occupied with the sound of his own heartbeat and the noise of the encroaching foe, were filled with the glorious noise, a perfect sound, to the wounded Ferris, it was the choir of angels. The crack of a lasgun on full automatic.

"On your feet trooper." Jacob growled as he kneeled beside the wounded soldier. Gripping the soldier by his fatigues and yanking him to his feet. "Jessie! Suppress!" He shouted to the Veteran Sergeant as she stood beside him, her weapon blazing away into the shadows.

"Roger that Lieutenant." Veteran Sergeant Cameron returned between bursts of las-fire and screams from her robed targets as they scattered into the multitude of alcoves and deep pools of shadows.

Jacob pulled Ferris' right arm over his shoulder and started to pull the wounded trooper up the tunnel. "Come on soldier, left follows right follows left." Jacob recited the adage the drill sergeant used to get the recruits marching.

"'Up... in... the...mornin''" Ferris replied weakly, as he struggled to keep hold of his lasgun.

"To the rising' sun," Jacob smiled as he continued the cadence. As Ferris struggled with his lasgun, Jacob reached over and pulled the weapon from the trooper's weak grip, slinging it over his own shoulder beside his own rifle. "Gonna' run all day 'till the running's done." He continued the marching chant.

The two moved foot by agonizing foot. Ferris was bleeding bad, already the Lieutenant's flak armour and fatigues were started to feel wet and warm as he hauled the soldier up the tight corridors.

The Veteran Sergeant was close behind the two, loosing tight bursts of fire into the shadowy figures that darted between the rocky alcoves, all the while keeping in step with the officer and wounded soldier.

"Almost there." Jacob reassured Ferris as he stumbled again, Ferris cast a gob full of phlegm and blood as he did. Jacob pulled him forward hard, just to keep Ferris going. "Come on Ferris, you can have a day off after this, I promise.

The Lieutenant guided the private through the tight turns, Jacob's own breathing heavy as he pulled the trooper forward. The act of helping hid the cold chill that ran up and down his spine like it was trying to do a marathon. He could hear the stubbers and autoguns barking behind him in between the report of the lasgun.

The Lieutenant turned a sharp corner, accidently bumping Ferris into the rock, who issued a cry of pain as his bloodied arm scrapped against the jagged stone. "Suck it up." Jacob hissed as he negotiated the difficult ground.

_SCREEEEE!_

"What the frak was that?" Desolta cursed as the inhuman scream seemingly reverberated off every stone and pebble. Stopping mid-step to look over his shoulder as he heard the call.

"I don't wanna' find out." Kravan hurriedly said to the pointman. "Go man go!"

Desolta did just that, he turned back and once again began to run. He burst out of the smaller ASR and onto the wider, better lit MSR Terra. Unlike the miner's tunnels, this area was paved with steel and lit with proper luminators, though most of them were either blown out, shot out or flickering on the edge of the first.

Desolta turned to face down into the long tunnel, his lasgun raised and his lug-mounted luminator lit. "Clear left!" He shouted.

Kraven darted out the tunnel an instant after him, he followed a similar action, only in reverse, "Right clear."

Mitchell came out strong, his lasgun held ready. The squad followed out sans Ferris, Soran and Razler of course. They fanned out as per their training. The men kneeled with their weapons levelled, their eyes watchful.

Mitchell looked at the tunnel entrance; he had heard the gunfire and the calls of pain. But he had barely noticed the lack of the lieutenant's voice in his own frantic attempt to get away. The sergeant took a moment to quickly wipe the pervasive layer of sweat from his brow as he watched the entrance.

His vox-operator stood nearby, the horn still blaring with the various reports of the squads of the platoon. It was chaos. The vox transmitted the reports of autoguns and lasguns more than voices now. Desperate calls for help the Lieutenant was unable to answer.

"Covus." Mitchell hissed over his shoulder. The flamer wielding soldier stepped forward, his weapon still off.

The trooper grunted something as he drew up to the sergeant in the half-light of the wider tunnel.

"You got a tank full yeah?" Mitchell asked hopefully, his eyes still locked on the darkness of the tunnel where he expected the lieutenant to come from.

"Yeah." The flamethrower operator nodded dutifully.

"Spark up." Mitchell ordered.

With a hiss and then a quiet roar, the flamer came to life; the nib at the end of the 'thrower' the soldier carried flickered bright orange and yellow. "When in doubt." Covus chuckled in his husky tone. "Burn 'em out."

"Oh good." Desolta grumbled as he heard the dull roar.

_SKRAAAA!_

"Oh crap." Marth, the man beside Desolta breathed.

"Stay steady." Desolta hissed to him, covering for his own feelings. "Remember, we got the better guns."

Marth chuckled nervously as the noise echoed up and down the tunnel.

Arnold looked less than impressed, kneeling as he was by the far tighter tunnel opposite to the tunnel they had entered through, his eyes staring into the blackness. He could swear he could see something moving.

"Stay frosty." Mitchell hissed to his squadmates as the noise bounced from wall to wall up the main corridor.

"Desolta, slow walk up." He added as he looked down the tunnel the Lieutenant was supposed to be following through. He could hear the echoing report of the lasgun but couldn't see the flashes.

Desolta was silent, but heard the order. He stood slowly, his weapon still trained down the long corridor. He turned swiftly and stepped forward. He treaded up the incline slowly; his eye hovered behind the sight of his rifle.

As the guardsmen pulled away, Mitchell grumbled slightly. "Kravan, slow walk up."

"Affirmative." The trooper noted by rote and stood, watching the darkness for a moment before turning and following his friend at a distance of three metres – Imperial Guard standard patrol walk distance.

"Charlie Three, Charlie Three, this is Charlie Three Two Actual." Mitchell tapped his vox stalk on. Though each fireteam leader, sergeant and lieutenant had one, they were ultimately short ranged and useless for contacting one of the other squads through the solid rock.

The vox hissed and spluttered before he heard the voice on the other end.

"Charlie Three Actual, send traffic." Jacob sounded hurried and tired. Even through the vox Mitchell could hear the bark of autoguns and the Veteran Sergeant's lasgun.

"Interrogative, we are held up here on MSR Terra. Where are you?"

"Standby, we are on our way." The Lieutenant responded and the Sergeant had to agree as the vox went quiet.

"Standby to move." Mitchell hissed to his squad as he shouldered his own rifle.

Silence fell, the inhuman screech seemed to dull and the las-fire seemed to go away.

It felt as if the air itself was trying to crush them. A heavy tension fell over the troopers. The silence was damning, Mitchell could hear the short, hard breaths of the soldiers. The footsteps of the two guardsmen rapped against the walls. Without looking, Mitchell wouldn't be able to tell where they were, the noises to chaotic to discern anything save the noise itself.

The troopers were less then calm themselves. Their eyes strained in the failing light, their rifles swaying to each side in a vain attempt to track the shadows as they flickered endlessly. Each sliver of steel, every sparkle of stone, any and everything drew the sharp-eyed attention of the guardsmen as each second passed painfully slow, like staring into the headlights of an oncoming ground-car.

Mitchell himself felt like his heart was trying desperately to burst from his chest. His mouth was dry and his eyes were jittery, even more then his soldiers. His twenty-one year old mind was racing, one part of him was shouting at him that he had forgot some basic thing about squad deployment but thankfully withholding what, another was desperately worried that his weapon was empty or faulty or would fail in the moment of need – despite the fact he knew it was fully loaded and well maintained. A tiny, insignificant voice hidden under a layer of drill sergeant-forced mental grooming was a meek prayer to the Emperor that He would return Mitchell to the welcoming arms of his sweetheart, a logistics guardsman within the Regiment's Headquarters and Service Company, the immense organisation behind the Colonel and Major.

Mitchell hissed another confidence booster to his troopers, though he didn't feel it himself.

"Possible movement, front!" One of the troopers called out. This caused the sergeant and the rest of the squad to snap forward. "Shadowed, sixty metres!"

The troopers watched desperately for a few moments. Each pair of eyes staring for any sight of the enemy. Six barrels twitched nervously from flicker of silver to speck of paint.

"Sixty metres?" Marth hissed to the reporting guardsmen, Karrie.

"Yeah." She hissed back, her eyes wide and her rifle tight into her shoulder, her finger tense of the trigger.

Marth cursed, "We can't see further than twenty with these frakking lights. They're useless."

"It was there." Karrie insisted. "The lights flicker you idiot."

Marth chuckled nervously unexpectedly. "It dips you up-hiver-no-brainer, we physically can't see past twenty five."

Karrie joined the private in the sudden crack of atmosphere. "I swear."

"Shut it!" Mitchell barked. "Flickering lights, you can't tell distance right, metal ceilings and floor – reflection, frakking it up even more."

"Wait." Marth stopped chuckling with some effort. "If...if...if Karrie, the up-hiver that she is."

"I lived on the same level as you!" Karrie retorted. "The same frakking block!"

"Yeah, well if she got it wrong." Marth continued. "Wouldn't they be twenty five metres away instead of sixty?"

Immediately the atmosphere whiplashed deeper into tension, the banter between Karrie and Marth evaporated.

"Karrie." Arnold whispered from his position by another tunnel entrance, looking nervously over his shoulder. "What did the hostile look like?"

"I only saw it in shadow." Karrie hissed back.

"Great." Arnold growled as he shone his luminator uselessly down the seemingly endless pit of blackness before him.

Every instant of seemingly inactive silence served only to ratchet up the tension. Mitchell himself almost wasted a falling dust mite when it dropped his field of vision. He swallowed hard and returned straining his eyes as he awaited the command squad.

A small voice crackled through the vox. "Sergeant." It was a weak and almost inaudible, the crackle ripping away the upper and lower frequencies making it difficult to hear. A symptom of the thick rock in the mines.

Immediately Mitchell pressed his finger into his ear to hear the weak signal. "Mitchell here." The sergeant tried to reply, unsure of his own voice was getting through.

"W- H-av- f—u-nd the se-m e-t-era-ne d—r." The message broke up horribly.

"You are weak and unreadable, standby." Though he couldn't hear the individual words, he knew from months spent cooped up with him that it was Desolta. Mitchell quickly gestured for the proper vox horn, the far more powerful version of the short-range transmitter on his belt. As he gripped the firm black plasteel he gave the frequency to the operator who dutifully programmed the set. "Sorry guys, prep' for feedback." Mitchell noted to the squad. The side effect of running the squad comms through the main vox would be that undoubtedly they would pick it up. "Desolta." He spoke into the vox-horn, his own vox-bead activating as he spoke. "Say again."

"Sergeant, we are – you sure? Ok – we are estimate-fifty metres from squad position. We have found the main seam entrance." Desolta reported quickly. His voice now clear and understandable – at least compared to its previous version.

"Roger that." Mitchell replied with a wistful glance up the grated path. "Can you open it?" He asked with a hint of hope in his voice.

"Err, standby sergeant. – Hey, can you see a console over there? Shwibby. – Sergeant, yeah, we got a access console over here. Should we open?" Desolta consulted with Kravan before returning to the vox properly.

"That is an affirmative, open it up and standby." Mitchell clicked the vox off as the point man sounded off.

"Finally, let's get the frak out of here." Marth said openly having heard the entirety of the conversation.

"Hold your frak together private, we've got to hold this stretch for the lieutenant and his command squad." Corporal Torson half-barked, the private shut up quickly.

All through the MSR a tremendous roar echoed, wiping out all other sound in a tidal wave of noise, washing out even the nerve shredding animalistic cries in the darkness and the thrum of autoguns. The walls shook and the floor shuddered, dust cascaded down like thick rain over the troopers and pretty much every think else.

"What the frak!" One of the troopers shouted though no one heard them.

As every calmed and the natural order was restored, the soldiers looked around frantically unsure of what happened.

"Sergeant – we've opened the door." Kravan voxed in, his voice somewhat happy. "We've also linked up with the Chimeras."

"Frakking A" Sergeant Mitchell half-laughed. "Good to hear, standby on overwatch."

The private sounded off his acknowledgment as Mitchell turned back to the squad, but before he could complete the rotation, another noise dragged his attention away.

"Sergeant!" A call cut across the air and the vox. The sergeant could almost see the ripple in the tension as the troopers heard the calls and the crack of a lasgun behinds it.

"Lieutenant!" Mitchell twisted toward the deep dark gaping hole in the otherwise steely corridor.

The voice of the Lieutenant was quick and near breathless. "Multiple friendlies pulling up the rear."

"Roger that." Mitchell launched a flurry of hand signals to a pair of troopers as he heard the dull footsteps approach through the side tunnels.

"Friendly. Hold fire!" A voice barked from the tunnel. The guardsmen from second squad didn't exactly back down however. A fatigued figure shuffled his way through the tight rocky opening. He stepped out into the twilight of the main hallway. The trooper nodded quickly to the fellow soldier before spinning on his heel to stare back into the tunnel.

Colath squeezed through afterwards, his rather large master-vox kit being a bit of a bother in the tight paths. The other command squad trooper reached forward, allowing his rifle to hang by it sling as he gripped a handful of fatigue and yanked hard.

"Hey! Hey! Watch the threads man." Colath chuckled loudly as he fell forwards out of the tunnel. "Frak man, you know how much these things cost?"

"Nothing?" Derringer grinned.

"Oh yeah." The vox operator laughed out loud.

With that the cheerful atmosphere dissipated instantly as the two unslung their rifles. While Derringer remained by the tunnel, Colath turned and kneeled, facing the deep, dark mine with his lasgun raised.

As the third command squad guardsmen barrelled through the tunnel, huffing and cursing alternatively with breath. His grenade launcher hung heavily in his grip as he fell to his knees, sucking in vast gulps of acrid, humid and foul tasting air. The copper tang of spilt blood stung at the guardsmen's noses.

"Frak me." The guardsmen belted out as he staggered to his feet.

"Yeah, frak you, now stand a post!" Derringer shouted to his teammate as the dull crack of lasgun fire drove closer.

_SKRAAGRAAH_

Marth sighed openly as the shadows themselves began to shiver and scream. "Oh that's not good."

"Movement! _Twenty-five_ ahead!" Karrie shouted out as she tucked her lasgun harder into her shoulder.

"Contact! Rear!" Another guardsmen bellowed before his voice was replaced with las-fire.

Arnold whipped his head around, fear gripping his throat as he stared at what looked to be literal moving shadows. His eyes darted to the faces of his friends as they turned also, their weapons levelled and mouths giving voices to calls of movement.

He twisted back around, his weapon high as he heard a near-silent hiss. He stared wide eyed and a stalled cry in his throat. The rifle shivered with the private holding it. A bolt of crimson energy stabbed out, illuminating a set of razor sharp teeth. A yelp escaped the parched mouth as he glanced those sickly glistening daggers.

As he corrected his aim in a millisecond, his lasgun disappeared from his grip, ripped away by inhuman strength. He tried to yelp once again as his vision followed.

"Arnold!" Covus shouted out as he turned, the flickering, roaring flamethrower held out strong. Turning as he heard the blood-chilling cry. In the lasgun-assisted magenta chaos of lights, all the special-weapon soldier could see was a flailing body, held in the air by some seemingly invisible force. To his credit, Arnold seemed to be desperately trying to grab at the knife on his left thigh.

Covus half-roared as he brought the incinerator about, he tensed his finger on the trigger that would launch a violent stream of burning promethium into the tunnel – only the thought of the man who shared iho-sticks with him for five months being in the way of that gush of fiery death.

As his conflicted feelings hesitated his trigger finger. The squad opened up properly, unleashing a blistering hail of las bolts down into the dark mine. The world became a cacophony of lightning-like cracks and the beats of autogun fire. The walls were bathed in crimson and it felt as if the floor was pulsing with the seemingly unrelenting firepower.

Mitchell barked a sharp and concise order as he stepped forward to the line of the guardsmen, his rifle also pulsing burst after long burst of laser fire. Covus couldn't hear him. As he fought his own reservation, a strong grip took hold of his collar.

Covus tried to turn around, to see if Desolta and Kravan had returned to join the fight once again; instead he was thrust backwards, thrown to the ground sharply. The full tanks clanging loudly and his back feeling the contours of the harness as the wind left his lungs.

As his vision swam back, Covus was confronted with a visage of death. A hideous monster, a gaping maw of red-highlighted teeth and burning black eyes hovered over his. Fear made flesh, nightmares made real; death incarnate loomed large in the guardsmen's eyes. All he saw were those eyes, tight, powerful, unforgiving and pitiless. They burnt right into Covus, he felt his soul jerk and retreat in sheer terror. As globs of spittle splattered seemingly serenely like summer rain onto the dirtied face of the guardsman, Covus screamed, and in a spasm of unbridled terror, his muscles reacted. A Gout of flame danced out magnificently from the weapon, illuminating the beast's unholy features even more. The foul monstrosity seemed to cry out as the fire danced on the fringes of its beastly, elongated skull. It twisted it visage to the fire, as if surprised by the column of burning promethium.

The monster's numbing gripped loosened, if only slightly, and with his first cognisant thought, Covus wrenched madly, pulling himself away from that dreadful embrace. He rolled sideways to his knees. With the second thought, he pushed himself backwards, up, bringing the flamer with him.

This time his roar was near whimper as he pulled the trigger again, ushering forth another blazing arc of fuel. As the fire crashed like spilt water against the far steel wall, he saw the beast was no longer there, vanished, like a shadow banished by the first glimmer of light. Covus whipped his head from side to side, trying to track the monster. It was gone. Covus stared up and for the first time he noticed the shredded grates in the ceiling.

"Ventilation ducts." He whispered, his throat sore.

"Sergeant!" The tiny vox bead screamed in Mitchell's ear. Jacob, the lieutenant.

Mitchell replied in a flurry on grunts and half-yelps as he raked the shadowy things in front of him with laser fire. The roar of the flamer barely registering in his mind.

"Emerging!"

Jacob pushed his way through the tight entrance, Ferris still holding on for dear life. He came to see the vista of second squad engaging their ever elusive foe.

Jessie was a single step behind, her own lasgun barking incessantly. "Markson, one round, frag, cover on tunnel." She ordered quickly as soon as she was free of the tunnels embrace.

The command squad special weapon wielder turned with drill trained precision, his issued weapon rising as he did. With a dull [i]bump[i] it released its deadly cargo. The small oval projectile passed the Veteran Sergeant, clearing her by a good twenty inches over her right shoulder into the once again dark tunnel. "Fire in the hole!" He bellowed as he did.

Jacob threw himself away from the tunnel entrance as he heard, Jessie following his example.

The detonation thundered over the roar of the lasguns for an instant and the tunnel entrance vomited a torrent of light and shrapnel. The fragments thankfully pattered against the flak armour of Marth, who didn't react to the grenadier's warnings with haste, though the concussive wave that pushed through an instant before threw him sideways.

Jacob pulled the whimpering Ferris up, the blood of the wounded guardsman now flowing freely down both of them. Jacob now sporting a rather nasty gash on his forehead where he had miss-stepped a turn and rammed his face into the jagged rock. Though Ferris, other than the quiet whimpers, said nothing, Jacob was sure he had just wrenched the poor man's arm out with that little stunt.

Jessie stepped up to the impromptu line with her lasgun by her hip, spiting fire into the deep pools of shadow. A wisp of golden blonde hair escaped her helmet and hung by her face. The weapon kicked and rocked in her grip as she aided the soldiers beside her.

Jacob barked uselessly toward the sergeant, his words lost in the seemingly never ending tirade of gunfire. Thankfully Mitchell was turning at the time and saw the mouth of the officer move in the crimson half-light.

The sergeant disengaged from the fight momentarily to move toward the officer. Uselessly again the lieutenant tried to shout his orders but to no avail.

The sergeant rammed his head, ear first toward the officer in an attempt to hear him.

"Breakout to the rear, fall back to Chimeras." Jacob shouted into the sergeant's ear not five inches away.

Mitchell nodded enthusiastically as he tapped the comm-bead in his ear.

"Fall back to the entrance, move!." He bellowed to his troopers.

The guardsmen responded by acting. The second fireteam – the two soldiers covering the rear – stood, still firing and began to push, aided by the command squad troopers. Jacob still helping Ferris up the steadily increasing incline.

"Frakking A" Marth shouted out as he stood. "I thought this order would never come."

Covus stood, looking at the vent above him as the sergeant moved past him, followed by the lieutenant and the veteran sergeant.

Marth half-hopped half-trotted backwards past the flamer operator, his lasgun barking with each step. The private looked to the flamer operator with a confused look.

The eyes, all Covus could think about were those eyes, staring at him as he stared back. His heart was in overdrive as he thought of those unholy slits of vision. Deep, endless, terrifying, perfect.

"Covus! Trooper! We are leaving!" Marth yelled at the entranced soldier.

Covus snapped his head to Marth as if he didn't realise where he was for a moment or didn't recognize the voice of his squadmate. Then it all came flooding back. The situation seemed evident to the soldier with a few quick glances around. He nodded.

Covus began to walk backwards slowly, levelling the nozzle of his weapon as he did so. Those eyes still staring in his mind.

The burning fear in his heart was made real with a single pull of the trigger. The quiet pilot light became a near-deafening roar. The sharp crimson laser-lit light was replaced with a blazing orange glow.

The troopers retreated behind the wall of fire. Each fireteam running a few feet before turning and bringing their rifle to bear of the ever-flickering shadows, those that seemed all too solid or glistened with steely weapons.

"Where are these guys coming out from!" Karrie yelled as she ran up the hall, sucking deep gulps of air as she stumbled slightly. Each alcove carved into the jagged rock now seemed to hold a threat hidden in blackness.

"I dunno'" Marth gasped as he crossed beside her. "The walls?" He seemingly chuckled for a moment until a stray stubber round passed by his head. "Frak!" He called out as he threw himself to the ground as the round zipped past his ear. Karrie on the other hand span one-eighty degrees and unloaded a dozen bolts of energy toward the source of the tracers. "Thank frak." Marth spluttered as he scrambled to his feet. "I'll buy ya' a amasec when we get out of all this." Marth smiled slyly to the fellow soldier.

Karrie gripped the arm of the fallen soldier, hauling him up. "I don't know, gotta do my hair, all dirty." She replied completely deadpan. She pushed Marth's rifle back into his chest.

Marth took the gun and turned, blasting his own burst as he jogged up the incline. "Playing hard to get again eh?" He said quickly as he turned again and began to pound up the steel path.

"Hard to get?" Karrie huffed as she kept pace with Marth. The whoosh of the flamethrower close behind the two as they tried desperately to escape the encroaching shadows, completely oblivious to the visage of death that loomed large in the mind of their squadmate, desperately trying to follow orders out of the mine. The two laughed out as the adrenaline ran thick in their veins, they weren't hitting anything with their lasguns, though that didn't stop them from trying.

The two turned as one, bringing their gun to bear as they passed the Lieutenant and Ferris, and fired. The two raked laser bolts through the wall of fire that Covus laid down thick as he howled.

"Fall back! Fall back" Mitchell shouted as he trod backwards, gesturing wildly with one arm whilst the other held his lasgun. "Move it." He bellowed as he gripped the corporal's arm and threw them further up. The Veteran Sergeant was beside him, pulsing single shots at those flickers of silver and stamped steel she saw through the wisps of fire and pulsing red light. Her breath even more hurried than before, the tang-tainted air stung her nose but her mind forced her nose through it.

"Come on Ferris." Jacob hissed, blinking the drips of blood from his eyes, "Almost there." as he pulled the crippled soldier toward the seam entrance.

"Ugghh" Ferris groaned, his bloodied, broken, shot leg dragging behind him as he tried to limp away from the chasing heat and darkness.

Corporal Torson was ahead, leading the squad up to the mine entrance. Each step was laboured as his lungs failed to pull enough air, a sharp pain stabbed into his side as he gritted his teeth and push onwards. The lasgun was heavy in his grip; it felt as if he was carrying a white-hot iron bar. Tears blurred his vision as he blundered forward. His throat was dry and it ushered cracked, panicked cries.

A flash of motion and the blurred vision turned black.

_AHHHGGGUHHH_

Marth wrenched his head around to the noise, an ear-splitting, blood chilling stab of pain delivered via sound. The call was a pained, deathly cry. Marth turned to see the point man, Torson suspended from the ground by some shadowed force.

"Holy Emperor-loving frak." Marth whispered in a hush tone.

Jacob looked on in confusion as the soldier was lifted up toward the ceiling, Torson's lasgun clattered to the ground uselessly.

Karrie lifted her rifle toward Torson, yelling a warning to the trooper. She tried to sidestep around but the thrashing guardsman blocked her aim. "What the hell is it?" Karrie shouted to Jacob who stood in amazement.

Torson tried to scream as he thrashed, he madly punched the armoured carapace of the beast. It hissed and snarled in return as it sank those razor-like teeth into the soft flesh of the guardsman, biting through the flak armour with little trouble. As one set of claws gripped the soldier, a second pair tore into the trooper, stripping armour, fatigues, flesh, muscle and bone with each swipe. Blood splattered across the ground and over Karrie as she closed the distance. The crack and crunch of bone sent a gut wrenching noise through the hallway. Another swipe took Torson's jaw out, ripping the bone from the mooring and reducing the shrieking cries to bloody gargles.

"Move!" A voice bellowed. Karrie twisted her head around while not moving her rifle from the shadowed force that held the fellow trooper.

Covus barged forward, the flamethrower raised. "Move!" He shouted again. His anger burst forth as he looked to Torson, the image of Arnold and those eyes rendered raw in his mind. He would not hesitate this time. He roared as he triggered the weapon. The gout of flame mirrored his own rage, engulfing the trapped soldier in its fiery embrace.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jacob screamed, "Cease fire! Emperor-dammit!"

Covus didn't hear Jacob, only the inhuman hiss and the burning red visage filled his own vision. He held down the trigger even as the soldier fell with a thud to the ground, the beast trapped in the deadly embrace of flame. Still he poured on the burning promethium, dousing the charred, smouldering lump of burnt meat that was previously a fellow guardsman.

"Cease fire!" Mitchell cried as he sprinted forward, having heard the lieutenant. The Veteran Sergeant grabbed the carry handle of the flamer and wrenched it up, forcing Covus' hand from the trigger mechanism.

"He's dead!" Mitchell barked harshly as he reached the trooper. "And so is his attacker." He added afterwards with a glance to the smouldering black lump of carbon, easily as large as Torson, all detail removed with fire. The pressured sergeant took a quick glance around as the second fireteam laid down covering fire. "Who the frak gave you permission to stop! Move!" He ordered harshly before locking his flamer operator in a hard stare. Covus just stared back, his eyes wide and wild "We'll discuss this later" Mitchell nodded before turning to the officer.

Covus snarled as he turned again, bringing the flamer against the flowing shadows. Another billowing cloud of ignited promethium as second fireteam ran past him. Jacob grumbled something to himself as he struggled up the incline as passed Covus.

Colath and Markson sprinted beside each other as they followed their officer's orders. All semblance of a fighting retreat broken as Torson was roasted by Covus. Markson turned quickly, belted out a warning and thudded out another trio of grenades.

_BOOM, BOOM, BOOM _

Another racket of explosions behind them as the grenadier loosed another volley, the walls shook and cracked under the repeated barrage but still he fired, laying down a rain of hate and discontent as he covered his fellow soldiers with a deadly payload of shrapnel of concussion blast upon their dogged followers. The black-robed mutant-cult-guys were cut apart by the barrage yet still they pressed on, heedless of the gore-slick walls or the relentless wave of laser fire searing past them, they pressed on, rifles, shotguns, pistols, anything they had raised and returning fire with a combat discipline the guardsmen had never seen.

As he sprinted from the deadly reports, Derringer's knee exploded, splattering the ground with deep red blood, as an autogun bullet punched cleanly through the thick fabrics of his fatigues. He yelped and cried in pain as the shin and thigh came apart, held together only by bloodied shreds of flesh. The pain was delayed; the sheer volume of adrenaline racing through his heart, muscles and mind stalled the incredible pain for an instant. Derringer was first aware of the injury as he fell to the ground, the metal walkway flying up toward him sharply, busting his nose wide open as he did. He screamed as the pain finally reached him, he desperately reached for the source and through his hands he felt where his knee ended. Probing fingers brought a new flush of agony to the young soldiers. Derringer yelped and cried out as he rolled himself onto his back and forced himself to stare at the grisly remains of his left leg.

"Frak." He breathed as he stared at the bloodied stump. His disbelief was quickly put out as another brace of stubber rounds found their mark, blowing the right side of his head apart, splattering another fresh layer of gore across the grey floors.

Jessie sprinted to her Lieutenant's side while he did his best to carry Ferris. Her once seemingly full webbing now ran thin of las-clips. She pulsed of another burst of shots into the flickering darkness – hoping against hope to suppress the multitude of hostiles that now snapped at their heels.

"Come on Ferris!" Jacob shouted to the wounded trooper as he stumbled, coughing up another wad of phlegm-lined blood. "This isn't your day off yet."

"I'm... serrry ser." Ferris slurred in return. His head was hung low by his chest, his breathing laboured and strength fading.

_BOOM, BOOM, BOOM _

As Markson nailed out another brace of grenades, Colath kept running, the first beams of light from the underhive beginning to appear in the distance. He smiled as he saw it, almost there.

That smile became a brief laugh of exultation, from the darkness he was entering into the light, and more importantly the covering arcs of five heavily armed Chimera Armoured Personnel Carriers. He could swear he could already hear that divine sound, a firing line of heavy bolters opening up, and the equally lovely sound of a dozen whatever-they-were robed guys being reduced into fine red mist. As his mind lingered on the mental image of the robed dudes being chunked by high-calibre bolter rounds, the ground gave way beneath him.

He came to a dead stop with a huff. The ground ended suddenly, the rusty, old, abused metal floor collapsing as he trod on it. Thankfully he managed to grab onto the grating as he fell, stopping himself from falling through completely. His head was barely above the new opening in the floor. His lasgun was unfortunately lost, falling away into the dark pit below. Desperately Colath tried to scrabble his way back up but to no avail, the vox unit on his back weighed just too much, but to try and remove it would mean letting go with one hand, and he was sure he couldn't support the incredibly heavy weight with one arm. The clasps were teasingly close on his collars, he belted out a long stream of the virulent curses he knew as he tried to heave himself up. His legs flailed around uselessly, unable to gain purchase on any surface beneath him.

"Come on." He encouraged himself as he inched himself up, bit by bit he gained inch by inch, his own muscles screaming at him as he taxed the last iota of strength from them. "Come on." He bit out between clenched teeth. His mind wrenched from the images of the Chimeras to the drill sergeant stood over him in basic training, belting out curses for him to finish a similar obstacle. He had bested it then, albeit with some effort, but he would do it again.

But in basic training, he didn't feel a pressure on his ankle.

Suddenly Colath fell back, straining even harder just to hold on, like something was pulling. His entire lower leg went numb as something squeezed hard.

_BOOM, BOOM, BOOM_

The waves of pressure didn't help Colath as he fought to hold on. A sharp pain lanced through him as something passed through the legging's fatigues and into the flesh underneath. "FRAAK" He yelped, his back arching backwards in pain and his eyes squeezing shut.

Marth skidded to a stop beside Colath as he screamed out. "Emperor damn man! Hold on!" Marth's own lasgun falling to its sling as he reached forward, gripping a fistful of fatigues.

"FRAAK!" Colath cried out again as Marth pulled, the pain this time in his left thigh.

"What up! Talk to me." Marth hissed as he struggled to pull the trooper and the vox unit. Karrie drew up beside the two, her lasgun swinging over him, trying to illuminate further into the hole.

"Sweet merciful Emperor!" She breathed as she saw what was holding into the fellow soldier.

It seemed to be made a dozen smaller interlocking plates of sickly purple and bone white. It was lithe and bony. But it was the things head, its gaping, bloodied maw, that made her do what she did next.

"Mutant!" she cried out as she fell backwards with shock, lasgun discharging as she did, spraying a wild barrage of las bolts into the pit.

The beast hissed and spat as a few of the laser singed its carapace, but still it hung on.

"Oh Emperor, what is it? Help me!" Colath pleaded as he desperately tried to hang on. He could feel it hanging into to him, gripping tightly up his hanging body as it weathered the attack. The incredibly sharp claws punctured the skin with each movement, splitting nerves and rending flesh, racking the trooper with pain.

"Hold on!" Marth shouted as he pulled with all his might, wedging his foot against a rent in the grating to try and keep the soldier above the edge. "Karrie! Shoot it!"

The Guardsman scrambled to her feet, desperately trying to bring her lasgun to bear for a clean shot. Her careful aim was disturbed by the roiling in her stomach and the shards of horror stuck into her mind. Her revulsion boiled over as her luminator caught a glimpse of the thing again.

Its maw was wide and poised against Colath's waist. It hissed menacingly as it opened it jaw, the razor-like teeth seemed to sharpen to the gaze of the luminator.

Then it struck. Colath screamed and he released his tentative grip on the metal grating. Suddenly Marth bore the entire weight of the soldier and his gear. The fatigues ripped from his grip and for an instant, Colath fell down as Marth fell backwards.

With a yell of effort, Marth rolled backwards, and as his boots felt solid floor once again, he lunged forward, hand outstretched to the quickly disappearing Colath. But to no avail.

Marth slid to halt with his head hanging over the edge, staring down into the abyss.

He could hear the howl of Colath, a blood addled cry of pain and terror.

Marth was still for a moment, his hand out, clenching at air uselessly.

Karrie, her head still swimming, gripped Marth by the shoulder. "Move soldier! You owe me an ackenberry amasec." She pulled hard as Marth seemed to stir. "Come on!"

Marth raised himself up, his response to Karrie's words were a near-silent prayer, one for the dead.

"'Actions are a soldier's prayer. Victories are his offerings.'" Karrie recounted as she thrust Marth's lasgun once again against his chest.

"Yeah." Marth offered meekly as he took the rifle.

Jacob pulled the near-death Ferris foot by slow foot. The tracer shots of a dozen barking autoguns and stubbers whipped past the two guardsmen as they moved on, only to be countered with the harsh cracks of lasguns. The Veteran Sergeant had slung her own rifle and relieved the lieutenant of his own lasgun, using its near-full power cell to fire back as she kept pace with the officer.

The weight of Ferris seemed to grow as Jacob went from helping to dragging quite quickly. The groggy murmurs drew silent as the drip of life was sapped away with each second.

As the rays of light brushed the cheeks of the officer, he turned to Ferris, ready to deliver some much-quoted inspirational saying, only to face Ferris, head low, not breathing. A telling wound indicated his end, his chest plate was twisted and malformed, it had stopped a round alright, but as it exited Ferris' chest. Deep red blood seeped from under the armour and stained the fatigues in a miserable display of gore.

Jacob held his breath for a moment as he looked at the corpse of a soldier under his command. As he let go of his arm, the body of Ferris fell simply and surely, with a dull thud as his head crashed against the floor.

Jacob stared for a moment at the lifeless body. A flurry of emotions smashed against him like a wave in the hive's water reclamation pools. This was his soldier, a member of his fifty man platoon, but he was more than that. He was a man, with friends, family and a girlfriend he regularly sent letters to. A seventeen year old boy that had been an ear to everyone for the last five months, he helped in the kitchens, helped the sergeants with their workloads and still had time to chat. Now he was gone. Snuffed out like a candle in a breeze.

Jacob felt his heart race as he took in the image. His lips curled into a scowl, he started to breath angry, hot huffs of air. The shouts of the Veteran Sergeant as she tried to get him to move seemed far away as Jacob snatched at his remaining lasgun, Ferris' lasgun, bringing it to bear in one swift movement onto the dark, almost hidden figures. The Lieutenant unleashed a burst of fury-filled laser fire. Crimson bolts stabbed out angrily into the steely walls inaccurately. One of the robed figures was caught in the barrage, ripping the flimsy fabric and penetrating the person within with pillars of red energy. The flesh underneath vaporised and flash fried in a second.

Jacob turned the rifle on another of figure in a second, loosing another burst of laser fire into the soft cover, chewing away stone, steel and flesh. As the raw energy touched the skin of the assailant, the walls were repainted a far darker shade. The officer dragged the still barking weapon across the front, the chamber stuttering as it super-heated in a few seconds. It kicked and trashed in Jacob's grip as he emptied the last of the cell into the foul mutant-cult maniacs. As the cell died, Jacob forced himself to release the trigger and with the encouragement of the Veteran Sergeant, start moving again.

Marth and Karrie were in the lead now, Covus, Markson, Marty – second squad's vox operator – and Mitchell not far behind with the Lieutenant and the Veteran Sergeant pulling up the rear. The second fireteam was summarily eliminated as Covus watched more of those beasts whip out from the ducts, alcoves, anywhere with deadly claws and a bone-chilling hiss.

Markson, jogging backwards up the incline, raised his grenade launcher, bringing it to hip against the figures shadowed in darkness below them. He growled a threat as he pulled the trigger of the weapon only to receive a soul-crushing _chunk_, something he had learnt meant that the weapon was either empty or jammed. "Frak, frak, frak." He hissed as returned to his full run while trying to pry open the grenade launchers casing to get at the feeding ramp to clear the blockage, he was sure it wasn't empty, he could feel the other grenades rattling around in the cylindrical magazine.

"WARNING." Belted a set of hidden vox speakers as the guardsmen continued up the ramp to freedom and Chimeras. "BIOHAZARD DETECTED IN MAIN MINE SHAFT ONE, SHAFT THREE, SECONADARY SHAFT SIX..." The vox droned on for a few moments, listing off what seemed to be every mine shaft in the entire complex.

"Frak no! Not now." Marth cried out as he heard the thunderous voice.

"Emergency Protocol Three Initiated."

"What's that?" Karrie asked allowed.

"Quarantine." Jessie shouted up to the private, her voice full of her feeling at that moment.

As if on cue an alarm wailed, droning on constantly and the lights started to flash red.

The great seam doors, the huge twenty foot solid plasteel blast doors the group was running to, started to close.

Marth could see Desolta and Kravan at the top, waving the squad up with calls and gestures. As they saw the giant doors begin to close, they freaked. Marth couldn't hear what they were saying but he saw what they did next. Desolta threw himself against one of the door, trying to hold it open futilely, the doors were designed with withstand unimaginable forces, explosions, floods, a single guardsmen wasn't going to stop it. As Desolta was pushed back by the hydraulic might if the door, Kravan began to work madly at the small console, stabbing at it with a finger and some quick-said prayers.

Each moment the guardsmen watched the only hope be closed to them, time seemed to slow to a drag, each footfall took an age to complete, each breath became a long drawn out process.

_Dumm_

Closed. No exit. The light that once seemed to offer so much hope was consigned them to a dark, shadowed death.

Kravan was still at the console as Marth drew up beside him. Marth looked wistfully at the door, as if praying was going to open it.

Mitchell on the other hand stood beside Kravan, looking over his shoulder. "Can you open it?"

"No sergeant." Kravan shook his head, "locked down tight."

Jacob stopped just short of the seam doors. As he looked at them, lasgun in hand with a fresh cell, a sense of finality came over him, he blinked a bead of blood from his eye as he turned again.

"Guardsmen!" He shouted, clear and true, he raised his lasgun, an action followed by the Veteran Sergeant and Covus immediately. "Hostile elements closing fast from the rear."

Jessie kneeled as she took aim, she calmed her breathing to a slow rate. She closed both eyes for a moment before reopening again, allowing all conflicting thoughts to melt away. They were trapped, no two ways about it. But she had a good half a clip left and she would be damned if she wasn't going to use it.

Marth laughed out of sheer nervousness as he turned. "Into the Eye with these guys." He took a fleeting glance at Karrie who was beside him. "So much for that drink."

"Yeah." She sighed as he shouldered her rifle and flicked it's fire selector to full auto.

Covus hefted his flamethrower up, pilot light still burning, toward the closing monsters. He swallowed hard and said a quick prayer to the Emperor.

Mitchell and Kravan joined their squad's example and raised their weapons, Mitchell kneeling to steady his aim.

Markson threw his jammed grenade launcher to the ground, spitting a curse as he did and drew his laspistol.

"On my mark." Jacob spoke softly as he watched the shadows move closer.

"Fire."

The guardsmen let loose. They filled the corridor with a symphony of lightning cracks and a blizzard of ruby-red lasers, each one enough to kill a man. The flashes were so many and so bright that they blinded the guardsmen to what they were aiming at, but it mattered not, they still kept firing. All noise other than the crack of their lasguns was eliminated swiftly; even the inhuman hiss of the monsters seemed dull and distant when compared to the cacophony of the lasguns and the roar of the burning promethium. Covus coated the entire area with flame, the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and the people attacking them. All burnt to ash and cinders in a few short moments. No bursts of flame, just one long continuous stream of rage and hatred. Covus bellowed a curse and a challenge but his words were lost as his flamer roared for him.

The guardsmen barely heard the alarm whine again.

Something leapt through the wall of fire, a beast judging by its hunched form. It darted forward with insane reflexes between the bursts of las-fire, even the best shot – Jessie – couldn't seem to hit the ignited beast.

It went straight for Marty, closing the distance with the vox-operator in an instant. A flash of claws ripped the flak armour from his chest even as Marty tried to hit it with his lasgun. He yelped in pain and fell backwards as the thing crashed into him.

"Dry!" Covus bellowed as he threw the empty tanks and flamethrower down, ripping his spare laspistol from his webbing as he did. He pulsed of a brace of shots, badly aimed ones, into the congregating shadows.

Marty felt the beast's claws dig into his stomach as he tried to fight back, but every blow seem to be ineffective against the carapace of the thing. All hope seemed lost when a fresh, new sound rang true in the ears of the rapidly-running out of ammunition guardsmen.

_CLACK CLACK BUMPH!_

The beast seemingly disintegrated into chunks of fibre and ichor, the vox-operator was instantly covered in foul smelling filth.

"Arbites! Engage!" A voice shouted.

The sound repeated itself several times over, throwing out slug after slug into the robed figures. Dropping easily five of them in as many seconds.

Another beast sprinted forward, sensing a lapse in the hail of fire. Jacob saw it bear right on him. He tried to bring his lasgun onto it but it was to late.

The upper chest of the beast detonated, reducing to little less than meaty chunks, spreading more ichor across the floor.

_SIKREE!_

The robed figures melted away seemingly into the shadows, they vanished as the second beast died.

Jacob twisted sharply, in the chaos he had missed the seam door re-opening, having accounting the streaming light for backwash from the flamethrower and the noise as his eardrums trying to compensate from the unimaginable concert of raging gunfire.

He turned to see a figure haloed in light, golden hair perfectly framing her face, a wonderful smile on her lips and a smoking bolt pistol in her hand.

"Felicia Calamar, Adeptus Arbites." She said serenely, "You seemed to be in a spot of trouble."


	12. Breathing Space

"Thank you." Jacob breathed as he stepped from the mine entrance to the light of the main hall, with the streams of artificial light shining through the open entrance. As he cast a glance over the wounded soldiers as they helped each other out, first squad sauntered slowly from another mine entrance, Germaine looking particularly haggard, helping another of her soldiers as he limped from the tunnels, Jacob felt a stab of convoluted feelings erupt from the bottom of his stomach. Third squad was sat beside their Chimera as one of the black-armoured Arbites tended to them with a medical kit, the Command Squad's own Medic, who had stayed behind, was stood beside him, looking desperately over the varied wounds the Imperial Guardsmen sported.

As Jacob saw Guardsmen Katherine, a trooper of third squad, cradling the only trooper bearing fourth squad markings as he wept silently, Jacob had to hold back the similar feelings that ripped through his mind, he swallowed hard.

"Think nothing of it." Felicia smiled as she holstered her weapons. "'All arms of Man must band together in the face of adversity'" She quoted an old scripture. She turned to walk alongside the Imperial Guard Officer. "It seems we arrived just in time." She tried a tone of humour, attempting to raise the low feeling that understandably permeated the hall.

As Felicia walked with the officer, Karen moved swiftly to the side of the main seam doors, tapping the runeboard quickly, her fingers dancing across the surface as she activated the machine spirit of the hall.

The alarms wailed again for a moment and the entrance hall shuddered as the great doors closed, sending another wave of dust t rain down over the plasteel armoured Chimeras and the troopers beside them.

Jacob looked over his shoulder as the seam doors thundered shut. That grim darkness was sealed behind plates of adamantium and plasteel; he prayed to Him that they would hold for know. He sighed heavily as he leaned up against the command Chimera. Despite being only a moment ago, as the adrenaline slowly filtered out through his blood stream, Jacob found himself trying to piece together what had just happened. The utter chaos of the situation was not helped by the flash of crimson and orange that tinted every memory, and those beasts. He rested his aching head on his palm as his brain cried out for rest.

"Tired?" Felicia asked as she observed the young lieutenant. She crossed her arms and leaned her shoulder against the plate of the armoured personnel carrier. She kept her sniffin' sense from probing the boys mind; it was easier to push into a strung-out mind than a prepared one.

"Yeah." Jacob breathed as he rubbed his eye, the lasgun hanging by its sling once again over his left shoulder. He returned a half-smile to the Arbite stood beside him.

Jessie moved to each of the squads in turn, checking them and offering a hopeful word, offering hope she didn't feel herself. Her own emotions and feelings were a mess. The rush of adrenaline and the resulting combat high drained away slowly and painfully, revealing the fresh wounds underneath. She smiled to every soldier and placed a hand on their shoulders, yet wished someone would do that to her.

She stopped by Katherine and the Fourth squad member, Guardsman Julius if Jessie remembered correctly.

"Julius." She asked softly as she dropped to a knee beside the young soldier. His face was streaked with tears and his eyes wild. Blood splattered his fatigues and armour, the strap on his helmet was broken and the fatigues on his right arm were shredded, bloody creases could be seen underneath as he clutched the side of his head. Jessie put on a brave face and smiled sweetly to the young boy-in-soldiers-clothing. "Where is your squad?" She whispered as she crouched low, bringing her face level with his.

The soldier was silent, his lip quivered but no sound came from him. The Veteran Sergeant repeated the question slowly. Before he could respond, Katherine interceded.

"We picked him up on the ASR. Seems like the squad made a fighting retreat, lotta' bodies and empty cells." Katherine filled the Veteran Sergeant in. Katherine hugged the younger soldier for a moment before leaning closer to Jessie. "We found the Sergeant, diced up." She whispered.

Jessie whispered a curse before nodding solemnly. The Veteran Sergeant looked to Katherine, "Look after him. He'll need to make an official report when we get back to camp."

"Got it." Katherine nodded quietly as Jessie stood.

Jacob stood up from his slouch, Felicia still beside him. He looked over the platoon. Though still recovering, several guardsmen were already retrieving fresh ammunition, medical packs and other supplies and quickly handed it out to their squads. Soran and Razler also joined the action, each bringing watering canteens and spare lasguns to the soldiers.

"Hey! Des'" Razler shouted to his teammate as he passed a canteen to Mitchell. "Where's Willits?"

Desolta shook his head. "I don't..." The soldier replied, with a wistful glance around, he words stumbled as his head snapped left and right looking for the man in question. After a moment Desolta head dropped to his chest before rising again and looking at the wounded Razler. "He... must have... got... caught." He whimpered weakly.

"Frak." Razler cursed bitterly.

Jacob watched the turrets of the Chimera twitch. The growl of their engines almost overcame the moans and shouts of the platoon.

"Did you close the doors?" Jacob asked Felicia as he took a draught from his own water canteen.

"Hmm?" Felicia seemed confused, "no..." she shrugged. "That wasn't us, we opened them, in time it seems."

"We were told the Adeptus Mechanicus deactivated the most of the mine's machine spirit, enough to open doors, close 'em etc..." The Lieutenant looked to the Arbite. "I was not told that its higher functions were online, specifically the containment protocols." He looked back to the great metal doors.

"My techie thinks it was a remote activation, some outside group." Felicia shrugged again.

Jacob turned fully to the Arbite with a raised eyebrow. "Why?"

"You got me there. It would take some pretty good knowledge of Machine Spirit's to bring this one back online."

"Adeptus Mechanicus?" Jacob asked.

"Unlikely." Felicia responded. "What would they gain?"

"I have no idea." Jacob shook his head.

"Good. Because neither do I." Felicia smiled to the drained lieutenant.

"Who are you anyway?" Jacob asked. He gestured to the other Arbites as they helped the guardsmen or stood guard. "They are Arbitrators, I've seen them a lot during my life, one even came to my schola to talk to us." He turned his finger to Felicia. "You on the other hand..."

"I'm a Detective." Felicia smiled, lifting the edges of her cloak, showing her weapons, body glove, pouches, armaplas plates and other assorted accessories, such as combat daggers, portable vox unit and handheld auspex. "We get a little more leeway in the uniform department."

"Can't say the same for the Guard." Jacob grinned as he looked down at his dirtied armour.

"My one reason for joining the Arbites over the Guard, the uniform regulations." Felicia chuckled. She looked over her compatriots before turning back to Jacob. "I'm sure either I or someone from the Arbites will want to talk to you about what you saw."

"What? Quick, shadowed, deadly figures wiping out my soldiers? Sorry, but that's all I got Detective." Jacob returned dryly.

Felicia sighed openly, raising her palms and half-smiling, officially her hands were tied.

"Well, if you'll excuse me Detective." Jacob turned away and walked slowly toward the Veteran Sergeant.

She turned as he approached and listened to a hushed order from the officer as Felicia watched from afar. Afterwards, Jacob immediately made his way back to his command Chimera, nodding thanks to the Arbites as he did.

"Third Platoon!" Jessie shouted to the groups of men and equipment as they rested or attempted to stand at guard by the armoured vehicles. "Mount up, we are oscar mike!"

... ... ...

"I've said it before Lieutenant." The black and navy blue cloaked figure belted out at the sitting Jacob as the Captain and Regimental Commissar stood offside. "This _report_ is crap." He bellowed.

"Inspector!" Lauren, the Regimental Commissar hissed at the cloaked figure as he reared over the young man.

"'Shadowed figures! Unseen, highly mobile opponents." The Inspector quoted from the data slate in his hand. "You are the Imperial Guard! The hammer of the Emperor!" He turned around, cursing as he did. "Beaten back by a bunch of mad gangers, Emperor help me."

"Inspector-" Lauren tried to interject but Corbal took over.

"Inspector Harron, we have been here for three hours. We have trod this same ground again and again." Corbal bit at the Arbite Inspector. "Now, in your hand is the collected reports from every member of Lieutenant Ruthann's platoon who engaged the hostiles."

"They had superior knowledge of the terrain and superior numbers." Jacob wearily answered. "As per my training as an officer, I decided to fallback to a favourable position."

Jacob looked behind the irate Inspector, Felicia was sat with her arms crossed and her face set in a neutral expression as she sat at the back of the Third Company command tent. Her team of Arbitrators were bolstered by a team of bolter-wielding Arbites the Inspector had brought with him in his convoy of three black Rhinos. Jessie Cameron was stood outside the tent with a few others of the company, all gathering to see what the hell was going on with the Adeptus Arbites and the Imperial Guard.

"You disregarded your orders!" Harron barked back, whipping around, inadvertently showing the gold-chased bolt pistol hidden under the heavy cloak. He turned his head toward the Commissar, "Surely you should have something to say about that."

Lauren shook her head, the cap removed to allow her short-cut red hair to flail a little. "By the all accounts, the lieutenant was right to fall back. Retreat is not inherently cowardice Inspector."

Harron grumbled as he looked at the data slate again, re-reading the same words he could recite by memory two hours ago. It was merely a time stalling method to reorder his line of questioning. The presence of the Captain and the Commissar wasn't helping; their fierce interjection on all most every matter was so difficult that the Inspector was surprised Imperial Guard Second Lieutenant Jacob Ruthann was able to answer his own name.

"Inspector..." The Captain leaned forward, placing his elbows on his thin table. He glanced to the Commissar who was perched on the end of the table with her arms crossed. She shrugged to the questioning gaze. "The lieutenant is suffering from fatigue and exhaustion." He stated openly, "Perhaps rest is appropriate?" Corbal questioned. "We'll make a formal report to the Adeptus Arbites Lucius Precinct within twenty four hours." Captain Corbal held the irate gaze of the Inspector for a moment before finishing. "To allow the Lieutenant to gather his thoughts." Corbal smiled, hoping it would say the Arbite.

Harron glanced at a unresponsive Felicia before turning back. He grumbled something under his breath as he scooped up a few data slates that lay on the edge of the Captain's table. "Twenty-four hours." Harron barked harshly. "If not, I'll be back, with more than a few arbitrators. You understand me Captain?"

"Perfectly." Corbal held the insincere smile as the Inspector turned and gestured for the others to follow him. He watched the Inspector push the flaps of tent away and stride out into the artificial light of the under-level. The Detective that followed him, Felicia if the Captain remembered, looked to Jacob, sharing a quick nod before following her superior with her own band of arbitrators.

A thick quiet engulfed the command tent as the Arbite left. The growl of their Rhino heightened as they left with the same haste as which they arrived.

Corbal sighed as he looked to the Commissar and the Lieutenant in turn. "Jacob." He said as his eyes joined with the younger officer's.

"Sir." The Lieutenant responded dutifully.

"You dodged a las-bolt there. I want that report on my desk in eighteen hours."

"Make that my desk Lieutenant." The Commissar stood. She moved gracefully away to stand near the entrance to the tent before turning back. "The Adeptus Arbites has only so much authority over the Hammer of the Emperor. I will want to see it before I hand possibly incriminating evidence – not that I'm saying you did anything wrong lieutenant, I just want to read it before I hand it over to the Inspector."

"Yes ma'am" Jacob struck a sharp salute as he faced the Commissar, "eighteen hours, understood." He glanced to the Captain before returning his gaze to the red-sash wearing officer. "Should I collect testimonies from Third Platoon? Some of the descriptions are... well they were under duress when the events occurred."

"Whatever you feel necessary Lieutenant." Lauren remarked before sketching a salute of her own. "Gentlemen." She said as she departed through the heavy tent-flaps.

... ... ...

"Inspector." Felicia called to her superior as they trod their way over to the parked Rhinos and bikes.

"What." He growled, clearly he was not happy with having an incomplete answer and an empty holding cage. Evidence had been destroyed by the Guard, who hid behind the excuse of 'combat' to dissuade their own guilt. But, ultimately, only the Provost or Marshal had the authority to strip the Imperial guard of that defence and even then, they still had the Imperial Commissariat to fight through.

"I don't think-"

"Don't think what, Detective." Harron hissed as he drew to a halt and turned to face the woman.

"Threatening the Guard will aid this investigation." She remarked with a gesture around her to the camp, to the Guardsmen milling around preparing their weapons and armoured personnel carriers. "Sir, if I may." She waited for the Inspector to interject but thankfully he didn't so she continued. "I can back up a few of the claims in that data slate."

Harron nodded as he listened. "Well, Felicia, your word, which I take as a great addition to these claims, still doesn't overturn the fact that evidence which is critical, absolutely critical, to this investigation, to what these mutants are doing and what their plan is, now is nothing more than a pile of ash or sealed under quarantine deeper in those Emperor-damned mines." He sighed as he placed his hand on his hip as he massaged the bridge of his nose with the other.

"Well, there is also this." Felicia remarked to the Inspector as she made a gesture to Karen, who stepped forward. "Arbitrator Ashe here discovered it in the Entrance Hall after the Imperial guard had left."

Karen reached into her raven cloak and retrieved a small box, a containment cage for slightly larger evidence.

Felicia smiled to the arbitrator as she held the box up before the two. Quickly Felicia unbuckled the clips holding the lid closed. "I was going to bring this to your attention when I arrived, but you were already conversing with the Guard Captain by the time I got here."

She pulled open the lid to reveal its contents, the Inspector leaned over it gain a better view. A bleached white skull, its lower jaw removed and all other biological matter burnt away, instead replaced with various mechanical parts, the eye sockets now bristled with sensor-sticks and pict-capture lenses. The underside of the skull was studded with what looked to be a anti-gravity unit and an array of tiny antenna.

"A Servo Skull?" Harron questioned incredulously, "Miss Calamar, there are hundreds of thousands of these in this hive alone."

"Look at the markings sir." Felicia directed as she slipped her gloved hands around the white bone and lifted the moderately heavy piece of Imperial technology up to proper view. It was quiet and lifeless, all lights extinguished and its motor off. She rotated the servo skull around to allow the Inspector to see more clearly. One side was quite cracked, seemingly from a fall, but the strange black markings were clear.

"They are not Adeptus Mechanicus..." The Inspector mused openly.

"Or Arbite, or of any government agency on record." Felicia added, though the information had come from Karen originally, it would be improper for her to speak without prompting to the Inspector. "In fact these markings correspond to nothing we have."

"Gang?" The Inspector hypothesized as he scratched his chin.

"None on file." Felicia shook her head before looking directly at the servo skull, tilting it slightly toward Harron so he could see the underneath. "And what gang needs this quality of vox-thief?" She said as she indicated the stalk that protruded from the mouth cavity of the skull. The Inspector grumbled something before the Detective continued, "Or a high-speed network and vox uplink?"

"How strange..." Harron remarked as he stood up straight. "How strange..."

... ... ...

"Patrol Two-Three entering area two, mid level five." Thall clicked his vox-rune as the two Arbitrators pressed forward into the somewhat subdued and calm city sector. Their recent experiences had bought them another week of patrol as the higher ups decided what to do with the two – and the precinct as a whole. The two wore their armour tighter than the last time they stepped through these streets, and now they openly wore their shotguns on slings. They still didn't get a patrol crawler – an Arbite-modified ground-car – much to Cairn's dismay at the thought of walking again.

"Smell that air." Cairn breathed deep as the two turned a corner onto the high-street. Teeming hundreds dominated each street and the road was clogged with dozens of ground-cars of various colours. The stores were as varied as each other, a few rather high priced department stores, allowing a touch of upper-hive fashion for a hefty price, were nestled between recaf bars and toy stores. Most citizens were in groups of two or more, couples spending a day off or families with young children going from store to store. The black carapace armoured Arbitrators stuck out the Eye on a celestial map, that and being the only openly armed people made them easily the centre of attention, as young children immediately pointed toward the two came into sight, murmuring questions to hushing mothers. Yet still they looked. Thall seemed acutely aware of the worried stares and shying glances, the horror of the riot's aftermath still a painful barb in recent memory. This area had suffered little to nothing but the sheer knowledge of the event had tarred all Arbitrators in the general social mindset.

"Air?" Thall said as he gave a weak smile to a young teenager who stood stock still as the Arbitrators passed him, the boy gave an even weaker one in return and quickly hurried along.

"Yeah, smells..." Cairn started as he pulled in great gulps through his nostrils, pulling in the odours of the high-street, freshly baked ackenberry and grox buns, flowery perfumes from the dozens of women and thick, strong aromas from the men, the smell of candied fruits and sweet frozen creams. "Good."

"Good?" Thall questioned.

"Yeah, good. No stench of ionized air particles, burnt flesh or cordite." Cairn clarified with a glance to his partner.

Thall agreed with a nod and a tilt of his head. He hadn't noticed himself, but was willing to agree with his friend on the change of scenery.

The two pressed on at a walking pace, walking the rockrete pavement as the traffic moved slow beside them. Cairn stopped by a parking metre to check the timer, in doing so a distressed looking man immediately darted back to his small yellow ground car, claiming he was just about to leave, pulling open the door and starting his engine. Before Cairn could say anything otherwise, the man pulled away into the slow traffic. Cairn gave the display another glance; the guy had easily ten minutes left, he shrugged and returned to his route.

Thall grumbled something to himself as he looked around during the entire incident, people half-watched, from behind papers and drink glasses at some of the cafes and bars that dotted the street. As Thall threw his gaze around from behind his helmet's sun-visor, the citizenry quickly looked down and returned swiftly to whatever they were doing.

"You feeling that?" Cairn muttered quietly as he continued on.

"What?" Thall asked as he looked about, watching the people continue their business as best they could between fleeting stares at the two.

"That chill." Cairn noted with a glance around.

Thall grunted as they came toward an intersection toward the major grocery emporiums. Hopefully it came from all the 'hip' youngsters that kept one eye of the Arbites.

"Remember when we got a free cake from that place?" Cairn gestured toward a small cafe, run by a lovely old man and his son; they made a splendid ackenberry cream pudding.

"Feels like a while ago." Thall looked at the white shop front. "Come on, let sweep this area and head on, I'm sure someone, somewhere is willing to take a pot-shot at us."

"That's what I want to hear." Cairn grimly chuckled as the two turned the rockrete and ceremite corner.

_AIIIEEE_

The two Arbites went straight into automatic, their heads snapping toward the sound of the scream and their feet moved them forward at speed. People threw themselves out of the way of the two with vigour; ground-cars came screeching to a halt as the two barrelled across the road, their minds already assessing the dangers. People, lots of people, no clear sight lines, no clear route of evacuation or med-teams to enter, no identifiable perpetrators , lots of problems, half a second to adapt for all.

Thall pushed his way toward the noise, people eagerly obeying the feverish hand gestures as his other hand hovered over his pistol holster.

A woman, young, dressed in a dark blue and black ensemble, her eyes wide and staring at the closing Arbitrator. She looked as if she had fallen down; she tried to support herself on her hands.

Thall drew up over her, already scanning the surroundings for an attacker or mugger. Cairn followed swiftly behind, scanning too, though he concentrated on the opposite direction to Thall.

"Who attacked you?" Thall hissed the question to the distressed citizen. In return the woman struggled backward, her eyes wide in fear. "Who!" Thall growled as the response was not immediate.

"He who is without sin on his knees!" Cairn borrowed Bale's intimidation phrase as he rested his hand on the holster of his laspistol. In return the people backed away, some holding expressions of terror; many complied with Cairn's order, throwing themselves to the ground as the Arbite gazed over with a stern glare.

Thall kneeled beside the shocked woman, her brow was coated with a slick layer of sweat, eyes wild and mouth chattering as she held back a cry. His patience was running thin. With a gauntleted hand he reached forward, gripping a handful of cloth and hauling the woman close. "Stop crying and calm down. Now, what happened?" He hissed though his helm.

The woman complied, her eyes locked dead onto the dark visor of the Arbitrator. "M... M... Mur... murderer!" She cried out.

"WHO!" Thall growled, his limited patience spent.

"Err, Thall." Cairn whispered.

"Who? Where? When?" Thall pressed his questions to the scared young woman.

"Thall." The fellow Arbite hissed persistently.

"You!" The woman screamed as she wrenched and struggled, "you killed him! You bastards! You killed him you son of a bitch! Get away from me!"

"Wha?" Thall breathed, staring on in strange disbelief, the woman kicked and thrashed in his grip while he thought over what she said.

"Thall!" Cairn gripped his friend. "Let's go... there's nothing wrong here."

"But..." Thall turned his head toward his partner.

"Come on Thall." Cairn jerked Thall's shoulder. The fair-haired Arbite reached down and released the woman from Thall's grip. The hysterical woman threw herself back into the welcoming arms of the crowd. Thall stood, still dumbstruck. "I think we're done here." Cairn noted with a glance around.

The cold stares had become hateful glares.

... ... ...

Felicia sighed heavily as she slumped over her desk, a weary sigh born of a long day with the Inspector and the long arm of the Arbite's combat forces.

With broad arm strokes, the Detective brushed a low tower of paper from the table, sending them scattering to the hard floor. Felicia groaned as she watched them fall, she cursed but couldn't draw up the strength or will to gather them again. They were old case files and reports, a few of them she knew were almost a year old – there was no rush to finish them. The court had already executed the perpetrators within days of their arrest and no one had pressured her to finish to they sat unfinished on her desk in favour of the more up-to-date cases, the ones involving roving gunmen and the like.

The door to her office was shut to dampen the sound of the precinct at work, scores of Arbites thundered past in a hurry for one thing or another, a prisoner transfer or cob ground van parked outside the gates.

Felicia groaned as the last vestiges of energy left her body, she was tired and exhausted – from one thing to another, this day had been long. To her left, on a side-desk, was a decanter of finely aged amasec, a gift from the Inspector a year ago from a previous case, a particularly harrowing case, involving a rather powerful administratum executive, a brothel of joygirls and a triple homicide. She smiled softly as she thought over the court case and the investigation as a whole – they had a great team then.

Felicia rested her head on the desk, left ear to the wood. Her hair was illuminated by the hard light given off by the desk lamp. She squinted but ultimately couldn't even muster the energy to swat the off-rune.

Her cloak was hung by the door alongside her webbing – the various holsters and pouches that contained her weapons and gadgets for crime scene investigation. She had deposited a few vials of blood with the forensic department, along with Arbitrator Karen's quite astute observations and pict-grabs a week ago but as of yet had not heard anything back. _Typical_ she thought bitterly to herself when ever her mind wandered to the issue. Detective Felicia Calamar was slumped in her tight, sticky, hot black body-glove a day's worth of sweat lined the fibres in near flood proportions – she had expected to have a calming day of office work, but no, that would be to easy, so a thoughtful citizen had decided to take up an stubgun and mow down half a work shift in one of the hive's water purification hubs. Even then it took her, a combat team and three hours to get to him, as a local gang saw the spontaneous murdering spree as an excuse to throw up a block war – as they are want to do. So yeah, things got difficult.

Felicia closed her eyes, wishing they her pounding headache and aching back and right thigh would fade somewhat to allow her even a modicum of sleep.

She slowed her breathing, drew her sniffin' sense in close and dulled it as low as it would go. She sighed one more time as she relaxed, feeling the first tendrils of sleep wrap warmly around her haggard mind.

"Detective." A voice questioned as the door of her office swung open not a moment later and Felicia resisted the urge to draw the auto-pistol from her desk draw and use it on whoever just walked in. "Last I checked, during shift period, an Arbite of any station must remain aware."

Felicia dragged her head up and cracked open a wary eye to look at the intruder of her rest. Immediately the Detective glanced over the chiselled jaw of her superior – the Provost.

"Come now Detective, on the watch." The Provost continued as he drew to a halt before her desk, carefully avoiding the discarded papers with grace despite his size. The raven cloak about his shoulders only served to accentuate his massive form – now no longer clad in the Power Armour.

Felicia craned her head up to view the Provost directly, her throat gave out a hoarse, sleep laden and moisture deprived groan.

The Provost chuckled as he reached forward, placing something on her desk. Felicia turned her head to see a steaming polyplastic mug. The smell of Arbite-grade recaf came rushing to her nostrils, the smell and taste of the Representative's own now a sorely missed sensation.

Felicia wrapped a gloved hand around the thin cup and dragged it laboriously to her parched mouth.

The recaf tasted like sweet nectar as it drenched her mouth and throat, her dulled senses not truly registering the finer taste until much later.

"Thank you." She mumbled between gulps of the scorching hot liquid.

"Excellent – now, onto why I'm here. I've taken quite an interest – if a tad whimsical into your recent excursion with the Imperial Guard." The Provost nodded before continuing.

"Well, sir, I wouldn't really call it an excursion, more a coincidence." Felicia meekly corrected.

"Despite the general order not to interfere with the Guard directly, an order I notice that your entire department seems to have conveniently ignored – but I won't hold that to you Detective Calamar." The Provost grumbled. "In the past seven days you have logged four trips to the Imperial Guard encampments of the Five-hundred and Ninth and Five-hundred and Seventh Regiments."

"Well, sir." Felicia smiled nervously "I was just-"

"Following orders." Krael finished in a dull tone. "Why is that the same answer most of your department are giving?" The Provost shrugged, "No matter."

Felicia carried on, nodding to a set of three dataslates at the edge of her desk. "I've collected multiple reports and testimonies about the..." Felicia stalled as she thought on what the Sanctioned Psyker showed her.

"Mutants" Krael nodded, crossing his arms as he did.

"Yeah." Felicia nodded on. She gestured toward one of the other seats that were propped against the far wall.

"No, I'll be fine." Krael politely shook his head. "Those mutants are, according to the Inspector and the forensic teams working on the ganger the Honour Guard dragged in, many generations along."

"That follows my theory, yes." Felicia nodded.

"An exceptionally deadly breed." Krael growled. "To think this infestation went unnoticed for so long." Krael turned away for a moment at the thought and hissed a curse. The Provost went silent for a moment. "Detective."

"Sir?"

"This situation... is..." The Provost muttered.

"Contentious?" Felicia suggested, as her sniffin' sense now motoring up to power, could feel the sudden dip in the Provost's mood.

Krael looked to Felicia as she uttered the word and caught her with a mild glare. Krael growled something as he looked away. "Contentious would be acceptable term for our current predicament. To think such a cell could grow beneath my own hive is..." Krael stopped for a moment. "We must deal with this quickly, thoroughly. Do you understand Detective?"

"I think I do sir." Felicia nodded. The two went silent for a moment. "Can I take this to be an internal matter?"

"That would be prudent I believe." The Provost nodded with a furred brow. "Thank you Detective, I'm glad we came to this agreement." Krael turned toward the door as he smiled to the still tired detective.

"Sir." Felicia stood as he left, her mind kick-starting as the recaf kicked in fully.

"Hmm?" Krael paused at the door, turning to look at Felicia.

"I've been trying to set up a follow-up meeting with the Representative, but the Lord Governor has been quite obstructive." Felicia started.

"The Lady Representative's is here to oversee this planet – if the Governor sees fit to escort her then so be it." Krael returned sharply.

"If by escort her, you mean to the Palace, to Lord Gulmet's Daughter's Ball among other similar engagments." Felicia noted off-handily.

"Have you been spying on the Representative – if you have then I recommend you rethink your priorities." Krael growled with a dark look to the Detective.

"If by spying you mean catching the occasional news-cast. Then yes sir." Felicia shrugged."She's been making main story news all the way through the upper-hive network. She's the centrepiece of the Governor's media circus he's whipped up there."

Krael sighed and shook his head. "I hoped, really hoped those were rumours." He sighed heavier again.

"I was called off before I could retrieve the Representative's full testimony about the events of her travel to the Palace." Felicia explained.

"I thought you had the reports of the Honour Guard of that encounter?" Krael turned to face the Detective with a confused look.

"There are some... discrepancies on her actions." Felicia lied quickly. "A simple follow-up will allow me to create a better picture of events – which means this investigation will be over quicker." Given by the creature she saw in the half-light of that mining tunnel – she had to contact Lady Relena again, hopefully to gain further insight on the situation. The Tercian Adeptus Arbites Intelligence Department were hardly the best informed of changes in the galaxy at large – only hearing what either came through the traders, returning Imperial Guard Regiments or news-casts. Though they heard of new crusades or of major wars, Felicia was sure that the higher-ups didn't pass down everything they heard – otherwise the galaxy was far quieter then she imagined.

The images that the Sanctioned Psyker had so graciously 'shared' were messy at best, she hadn't seen the beast particularly in the half-second flash of horror – and her mind quickly blocked out the more shocking images by default. Aside from a few pages Felicia discovered with the Inspector's cogitator login, more scattered reports and hearsay then true facts. The images she saw definitely leant credence to their descriptions. Assuming the beast was a 'Genestealer', she would need to gather more intelligence on the creatures – it was immediately clear from the Imperial Guard reports and wounds that the xenos beasts had human support – sickeningly. Either way, the Representative represented an untapped resource, a font of knowledge that Felicia needed if she was going to make sense of any of this. Why were these beasts here, what are they doing and more importantly what are they.

"Huh?" The Provost grunted with a raised eyebrow. "Okay Detective Calamar, I need to bother the Governor over his latest 'actions' – this damned Imperial Guard assault. That should give you the window you need."

"Thank you sir." Felicia half-bowed as she sat down again, taking another slug of the recaf in her hand.

Krael turned to walk out the doorway but as he did he jerked back, his finger wagging questioningly. "Detective Calamar."

"Yes Provost?" Felicia looked back toward the door.

"Be sure to clean this office up – who knows when the Representative will tour this precinct." Krael half-said, half-growled a threat. "That's a general order that I hope your department won't ignore this time round."

"Yes Provost." Felicia smiled innocently, as if she planned on actually doing it herself – she knew a dozen Cadets who could do it in her lunch break, they owed her a favour after she bailed their asses out of a Bale-led smack down over some petty infraction.

The Provost grunted again as he turned and left.

As the door clicked shut once again. Felicia slumped into her chair, sighing as she did. She closed her eyes and wished for sleep to claim her.


	13. Return to Normalcy

Felicia pulled her bike through the pristine streets with ease. Her hair contained within a regulation Arbite helmet, forgoing her preference to rear un-helmed. She decided to don the black carapace helmet and visor in vain attempt to muffle her sniffin' sense, six days of riding round, pulling stray thoughts from the hundreds of pedestrians had been less actual thoughts and more background mumble but with everyone on their toes about the riot, the supposed murders and other things had caused everyone's thoughts to turn when they saw the heavy black combat bike and Arbitrators, more cold, more defensive, more angry. Felicia could still hear them as she pulled up by the Imperial Palace, a parking spot put aside for her. Up here, in the upper levels it wasn't so bad but still the snide and often openly offensive thought slipped through her mental blocks.

As she pulled her helmet from her head, her golden hair flowed down, a kept as she could; it barely matched the styles that wandered the street up here. Her blonde hair almost looked out of place among the veritable sea of strange colours. Emerald, Ruby, Sapphire and all manner of strange colours and designs adorned the teenagers that wandered the level. Her cool blue eyes darted over three dozen faces as she pulled the ignition stick from the bike's engine. Not that Felicia thought for a second that the people here were going to steal her combat bike – it had a tracker so they couldn't get far, it was just a underhive habit. She smiled a reassuringly as she could to a small child as he stopped to look at the woman in black. Who she assumed was the boy's mother, a woman with frankly, to Felicia's eyes, a stupidly large and thin hat and frankly ugly sunglasses, looking more like two visors connected together then anything practical, her skin clearly marked by rejuvant treatments, tugged on the boy's leash before returning to the other ghastly dressed women she walked with. The boy – who couldn't be more than four years old – fell over as his mother tugged, the boy got another tug, pulling him across the ceremite pavement, and another, and another. Felicia watched in a combination of confusion and distress as the child put up no fight as his mother literally dragged him away, not noticing as she prattled on with her three or four followers.

Something inside Felicia, her mothering instincts she called it, bid her feet forward, her hand to reach out and her mouth to form some loud words. The mother span around as if annoyed by a buzzing fly and looked at the Detective as she began to berate the woman before her friends. She grunted noncommittally as she looked to the small boy. "Stand" she said with some disdain, as if doing it was below her. The small boy did as he was told, he got to his feet slowly and clumsily. This only set Felicia off again.

"He's my child, if he won't behave himself then I shall just replace him." The mother shrugged. "The proletariat always need cheap labour." She wrinkled nose at Felicia "And what does it mean to you? Shouldn't you go murder another teenager; it seems to be your favourite pastime these days." And as if she thought this was over, she turned to her friends and began chatting again.

Felicia gripped the mother by the incredibly thin shoulder, baring her teeth as she did. She was pissed. The black armoured gauntlet completely wrapped around the mother's shoulder. Felicia pulled the mother close, her crystal blue eyes staring menacingly into the recaf-coloured glasses.

"Name?" Felicia growled.

The woman hissed her name, Felicia stored it quickly and moved on.

"Neglect of a minor of blood relation!" Felicia began. "Three months community service."

"Whaa. You can't do that!" The mother and her friends began to protest. The mother actively began to struggle against Felicia.

"Insulting an Arbite!" The Detective continued. "Twelve months community service."

"Let go of me you bitch! You'll be hearing from my advocate!" The mother squealed.

"Offensive language to an Arbite." Felicia snarled. "Two months."

"Prison! Are you frakking kidding me? Let me go bitch!" The Mother panicked, thrashing in the firm grip of Felicia. She and her friends bickered with the stoic Felicia for a moment or two, until the mother's trashing arm, landed palm first against Felicia's cheek. The group went deathly silent. Felicia was barely aware of the strike, her nerves and mind hardened for things far worse.

"Assaulting an Arbite..." Felicia growled.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The mother whined, all the while the boy stood silent looking up at the two.

"Five years." She snarled into the panicking mother's face.

"NO! EMPEROR NO!" One of the friends squealed.

Felicia rested her hand on the holster of one of her bolt pistols. "Resisting arrest..." She uttered slowly. She idly thought about Bale favourite excuse.

"Frak, Frak" The woman closed her eyes.

"Twenty years!" Felicia shouted point blank. Before even waiting to hear the pleas from the now-thoroughly scared woman, she removed her hand from her holster to her armour's vox rune. "Dispatch, this is Foxtrot-Charlie-two-twenty-three."

"Dispatch here Detective." The vox hissed from the bike's speakers, "Go ahead."

Felicia didn't take her eyes off the woman as she stood stock still with fear. "Dispatch, I need a meat-wagon. Upper One, Area One, Green Quad."

"What!" One of the ghoulishly dressed women exclaimed.

"I'm innocent!" The mother shouted. "I'll change! I promise!" She stood staring with disbelief into the unflinching eyes of Felicia, her patience worn thin in the last few days, worn almost to the bone, and the last push of annoyance sending her toppling over the edge – so to speak. In her own mind she was just following the spirit of the law, if Bale was following it anyway. She smirked internally.

Felicia held a death-grip on the woman for what seemed to be an age. All the time the mother pleading her innocence and coming close to tears but the Detective held on.

Felicia could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, but she dared not tear her eyes off the perpetrators. As the woman trashed and wailed, her friends throwing insult after insult at the Detective, she held strong. A sickly feeling started to creep up her spine and into her stomach as the woman cried for forgiveness, but Felicia squashed it with a swift, iron-hard thought. All the uneasiness didn't drift away; it remained as an unstable base as her thoughts swirled on the sudden sense of cold that tickled the base of her neck.

From afar Felicia could hear the growl of the high-powered 'meat wagon' from afar as it closed through the streets filled with opulent houses and vast ground-cars. As the noise rose the mother panicked even more, to which the Arbite tighten her grip.

"Struggle and I'll hold you in contempt!" Felicia barked harshly. The mother froze in fear, her mouth agape, while her cronies wailed.

Before long the incident had drawn a crowd of eyes all to 'polite' to stand within easy distance, preferring to stand in the middle distance. Felicia noticed the dozens, watching with quiet whispers behind hands, the mother glanced around to see the observers as she followed the gaze of the Arbite, her face went from frozen panic to utter mortification. "Oh... oh Emperor." She uttered. "Oh Emperor."

Felicia took a glance at the face of the child, vacant, all emotion seemingly driven out by the mother. With a twisting gut Felicia pulled the mother close, and through gritted teeth she whispered "You'll need the Emperor at the penal colony, this is but a taste of the embarrassment you will feel." With these words the heavy black 'meat-wagon' a Rhino specially designed for prisoner transport, drew up beside the group. The cold in Felicia's neck grew as the ramp dropped heavily, slamming against the rockrete of the road. The black exterior gave way to white, sterile interior. Two Arbitrator piled out, shotguns in hand and helmets closed.

"Grammy Desouza, twenty-six year sentence, Choam Penal Colony, case closed take her away." Felicia reported solidly to the two as they gripped the arms of the mother themselves. She squealed and whined as they hauled her away.

"Ma'am." A third Arbitrator said as he left the hold of the rhino. Felicia turned to look at the Arbitrator. "Ma'am, the double-x chromosome minimum, maximum and supermax wings of Choam penal colony are full to capacity." He reported with a glance to his dataslate.

Felicia looked at the pleading look of the woman as one of Arbitrators cut the tether between her and her child. The roiling feeling in her stomach grew as she glanced at the child. "Put her in the double-y, maximum security wing."

"WHAT!" The mother cried out.

"What?" The Arbitrator asked.

Felicia returned her cold gaze to the Arbite. "Are you questioning my judgment?" Felicia returned her gaze to the mother. "Twenty-six years. A free cell is an open cell, the wardens won't mind."

"Yes ma'am." The Arbitrator nodded before turning to the two holding the prisoner. "Twenty-six years, Choam Penal, Maximum, double-y."

Felicia halted the Arbitrators as they secured the mother, shackling her to the innards of the meat wagon. She glanced to the 'friends'.

"Obstructing the course of justice, aiding and abetting a prisoner, verbally assaulting an Arbite." Felicia read off quickly. "Fifteen years sentence, case closed, take them away." She uttered as the Arbitrators immediately grabbed handfuls of previously squawking women.

"Ma'am, the child?" The Arbitrator asked as he half-threw a woman in the hold of the rhino.

"He is now a ward of the Imperium." Felicia stated coldly as she turned her head to the Governor's palace, looking up toward the source of her odd feelings – to see the Representative looking down at her.

... ... ...

"All Arbites, all Arbites, code five-one-A at Third Hive Bank on twenty-fifth and fifteenth boulevard, mid-level four. All Arbites in vicinity respond ASAP."

"Ten-four dispatch."

The vox crackled in the ear of Sergeant Bale as he weaved his heavy combat bike through the parked blockades as the drum of machine gun fire echoed through the streets. The Third Hive Bank was the fifth largest bank in the hive, it saw thousands of people come through its doors every day, and held in their procession millions upon millions of imperial credits for the hundreds of thousands of registered users – its seems that some citizens they were wanting to make a withdrawal.

The front steps were grey rockrete leading up toward a plasglass front between four main pillars. The name of the bank was emblazed on a plasteel plate above the wide panoramic entrance, a front of glass and ceremite raising as high as some hab-blocks. The steps leading up to the front 'doorway' was grand, carved affairs, curved grey-white slabs. He used the term doorway loosely; you could drive three rhinos through it side by side and still have room for rapid pursuit outriders.

Now the street in front of it was playing host to a half dozen Adeptus Arbite Rhinos and three Chimeras. The great, crystal glass fronts were smashed, littering the floor with shards of armaglas. The steps were littered with bodies, some active, barking orders and reports up and down, some lay holding a variety of wounds. Two Castigators sat idle, their auto-grenade launchers whirred experimentally but fired nothing, Bale took note of their designations, CS-15 and TA-22.

Bale cut through the cordon of Vigiles and Cadets easily as they waved him through the crowd of media and citizenry that was growing by the minute.

"Report." The Sergeant growled as he brought heavy bike to a halt. The nearby Arbite turned, his bolter held ready in his grip. "Proctor Gerrin."

"Crudded up to the Eye." The Proctor answered as Bale kicked out the stand on the bake and dismounted. The short, sharp burst of automatic fire droned over the jabbering citizens and blabbing reporters. "Looks like a few perps decided they weren't being paid enough, so they decided to even up their pay." The Proctor followed Bale as he trod through the Rhinos towards the steps, passing a dozen Arbites on the way, many nursing injuries; the med-teams were working overtime, bandaging wounds nearly non-stop.

"I wanted a report Proctor." Bale growled over his shoulder to the Arbite squad-leader. He held the gaze through the visors for a moment before turning back and pressing up the rockrete stairs.

"Multiple perps entered building thirty minutes ago. Shot three guards and five, maybe seven civilians. Patrol-team called it in." Gerrin answered more seriously as they progressed up the steps toward the beat of gunfire. "My Combat Team arrived fifteen minutes ago. Extraction of civilians and elimination of perps unsuccessful."

"Why?" Bale looked over the Cadet clutching their lasguns as they lined up just below the steps, the Arbite in proper carapace armour were dotted in among them, their bolters at the ready.

"Bastards are dug in tight. Proctor Calan lost three on his assault – he's pinned inside." Gerrin groaned. "I lost one of my team too." He spat. "Motherfrakkers executed him."

Bale stopped to look at the Proctor. "How?"

Gerrin shook his head. "We tried to push in but got driven back, Cole, he got hit and went down. They took him before we could try to get to him." The Proctor gestured with his head further up the building. Bale followed the Proctor's gesture to a high window, smashed. Bale could from this angle could almost see something in black slumped at the lip of the smashed window.

"How many? Their equipment? How many hostages? The important things Proctor – we'll think of the dead afterwards, he's with the Emperor now." Bale chastised, it made his blood boil at the sight of a dead Arbite but they had to remain focused – criminals were still holding civilian lives.

"Twenty-five, thirty at the most." Gerrin returned plainly, "High-grade gear, autoguns almost universally though I heard some shotguns." He looked toward the lip of the steps, where the occasional tracer danced over their heads. The burr of gun fire echoed off the tall buildings, reverberating around the throngs of people littering the street. Bale kept his eyes locked to that lip, not stupid enough to put his head over the top just yet. Gerrin looked to his bolter for a moment as he slid in a fresh clip into the weapon. "Number of hostages? Not a frakking clue, could be twenty, could be a hundred, we have no idea." He commented as he racked the loading tab.

"They executed any of them?" Bale asked as he mentally drew up the situation.

"Yeah, two we know of, could be more. Both were young girls, early twenties." Gerrin replied as he waved a cadet over. As he gave a few hushed commands to the cadet, Bale straightened up before manoeuvring toward the lip while unbuttoning his holster and drawing his sidearm. As the Sergeant came close to the lip, the Proctor pulled himself away. "Sergeant! What the hell are you doing?" He shouted as he took the step in their threes.

"Proctor." Bale bellowed back down the steps. "You and your team, fall in on me, line formation." The Arbite Proctor looked at the Sergeant for a moment impudently before shaking his head and doing as the Sergeant ordered, calling his resting combat team into formation, the once ten men strong team was now two short. The team fell in as ordered as Bale glanced down to the two riot vehicles. "CS-15." He tapped the vox rune on his armour. "On my mark one, smoke, heavy spread on the door." The vehicle voxed its confirmation as Bale looked to the other Castigator. "TA-22, on the same mark, take-down, stumm pattern, all windows above second floor." As the grenade launchers whined and whirred as they prepared, Bale looked back to the lip of the steps as he brought up his pistol. "CS-15, TA-22, on the mark two, photon-flash, short burst, front door." Bale cricked his neck. "On mark three, fragmentation, high-ex and incendiary." Bale turned his head toward the Combat Team. "Stay on me, close spread." Bale tapped the rune on his black armour as he tuned it to the standard arbite combat frequency. "Proctor Calan, standby for support, be advised, smoke heavy."

"Bale? God damn... Got it Sergeant, support inbound, smoke heavy." The Proctor on the inside returned, the drum of machine gun fire laid thick on the transmission, interspersed with the booms of bolter fire.

As Gerrin waved the rest of his Combat Team into formation, he signalled the Cadets that littered the steps to prepare with a few deft hand signals. "On your signal Sergeant." The Proctor glanced over the imposing Sergeant.

Bale racked the slide of his trusty sidearm, checking the pistol for any rust or wear. He turned his visor-clad eyes to the smashed glass windows, the corpse of the Arbite. Then to the front entrance, an Arbite was stood beside the entrance, his back up against one of the great ceremite pillars, his bolter held to his chest and a openly weeping wound on his shoulder. As Bale caught the eye of the wounded Arbite, he received a nod from the last Combat Team member.

"Standard assault, fire and move." Bale barked over his shoulder as he took the last few steps in their threes. "Mark One."

Gerrin could only just recognize the words come from the Sergeant's mouth as the Castigators opened up, as if eager for the order to fire their heavy grenade launchers. The two armoured vehicles immediately spewed forth a torrent of small fist sized projectiles into the front of the bank. The guns roared as the small grenades punched through armaglas – or what remained of the armaglas. As the round bounced into the hard carpet, they detonated in a spray of grey and black, covering the entire entrance in their dark embrace.

Bale was off like a shot. "On me!" The Sergeant barrelled toward the smoke, the sounds of gunfire dampening behind the thick, rolling smoke. The thuds of the grenade launcher continued as they chucked their gas grenades into the top of the bank. Bale stopped by the entrance and looked at the wounded Arbite as the Combat Team pushed forward.

"Good timing Sergeant." The Arbite winced painfully.

Bale looked the carapace armoured soldier of Imperial Law over, before shaking his head. The runnels of blood dripped from his vambrace to the hard grey rockrete. His breathing was ragged and shallow, his eyes dilated, painkillers clearly pumping through his blood stream through his armour's auto-injector – equipment issued to all Combat Team Arbites.

"Let's go get 'em." The arbite grinned, his bruised lip openly bleeding, trickling down his chin onto his black armour.

"Get to the back. Your no use to me in this state." Bale growled.

"That's a big negative Sergeant. Cole was a friend of mine; I got a bolt for the bastard that killed him." The arbite coughed out as he pulled himself up.

"No, I'm not going in with a wounded arbite holding my flank, pull back." Bale barked as he waved the rest of the Combat Team into the building, the sounds of battle growing as the two Combat Teams along with a squad of Cadets assaulted the perps' inside.

"But..."

"Now!" Bale bellowed as he turned back to the wounded arbite. The Arbite's shoulders dipped visibly. "Hold the fall back line and aid the medical teams." The Sergeant added after a short moment.

"Yes Sergeant..." The arbite uttered as he fell back in a textbook fashion.

"Emperor above!" One of the Cadets exclaimed as he ducked lower behind the ceremite reception desk as a hail of bullets zipped overhead. The Combat Teams were assailed immediately by a wave of rounds as they attacked, the smoke was thick and choking even as the Arbites donned their respirators, but still the perpetrators continued their fight, sending an unrelenting wave of autogun rounds into the oncoming Adeptus Arbite Arbitrators. One Combat Team Arbitrator went down instantly as he charged forward, bolter blaring, his face, skull and brain now decorating a once pristine white wall.

"Keep your head down!" Gerrin bellowed over the cacophony of chaos around them, the air filled with hundreds of invisible autogun bullets – now well within their listed lethal range. "Corman! Push left!"

The Arbitrator bellowed his affirmation as he readied himself. The Arbitrator waved the nearest Cadets to the ready as they prepared to push through a heavily devastated office block, the gloss windows of the tillers shattered by gunfire and the fine wood splinted as the perps and the Arbite waged their war within the tight confines. The perps had fallen back to the far end of the hall that made up the entrance of the bank, setting up their weapons in a perfect position to just let rip down the rows and rows of advisor desks and tills.

The arbitrators had battled their way in with bolter and lasgun fire. But their once powerful charge under the barrage of smoke and take-down gas that seeped down from the upper floors had faltered under the machine gun fire the perps put up. The Arbitrators had resorted to popping up and firing braces of fire into the dust and debris laden battlefield. Bale was pressed up against a plasteel pillar as rounds danced around him, his manner steady and calm maintained. The Sergeant had barked orders on the way in, bringing Calan's team into the fold and assault.

Corman inched closer and closer to the edge of his cover – a knocked over desk. Three other Arbitrators with bolters and a Cadet with his lasgun and flak armour. Corman signed to the team, his voice lost under the chaos of battle. 'On me' he signed in Arbite Battle-Sign. The other nodded as they raised their weapons.

Corman breathed deep once before flinging himself around the corner in a low crouch, his bolter raised and tracking for a target. As he pushed he saw a spark ahead wrapped in shadow, in a swift action his raised his bolter and pulled the trigger, the kickback slowing the Arbitrator and sending a bolt spearing through the dusty air into the shadow. If he hit whatever he was aiming at, he didn't know. He would never know.

The Cadet behind Corman watched the Arbitrator drop, his helmet torn apart by a sudden hail of tracers. The carapace armoured Arbite slumped forward, his ruined skull hitting the ground as the rest of the team dived into the thin cover of cheap wood.

The Cadet watched for a moment as the arbitrator he'd watched and listened to for three years died – his mentor's blood staining the Cadet's chest and face.

"Get to cover you idiot." An Arbitrator shouted as he gripped a handful of fatigues and yanking the Cadet almost into his lap. "Crudding idiot!"

The Cadet looked up in the half-light to the Arbitrator – Jason, Corman's patrol team partner. His armour was caked in dust and his fatigues looked damp with sweat, though it was hard to tell in the bad lighting. The strap of the bolter Jason wore was snapped and the visor of the Arbite's helmet was lifted, retracted into the helmet so the Cadet was met with the hard eyes of Jason.

"Dammit, didn't you listen to anything we told you? – stand still in combat and your dead?" Jason spat.

"But..." the teenager started to say, his face still wet with the blood of Corman. As the young boy started to speak, the rest of the team that came with them opened fire, sending bolt after bolt into the melee.

"But nothing." Jason stated coldly. "Corman died, people die and if you let that stop you now, you will die." The Cadet looked up at the Arbitrator as tracer speared over head. Jason pulled the Cadet to his knees. "Get a grip." The Arbitrator growled as he shoved the Cadet's lasgun into his chest as he took up his own bolter.

"Yes Arbitrator." The Cadet nodded his breath shallow.

"Don't give me 'yes arbitrator', that crud worked with Corman. On your feet and go enforce the Emperor's Law." Jason barked as he snapped a bolt over the makeshift parapet. The Cadet nodded weakly as he tightened his fingers around the fore grip and pistol grip. The Cadet rose himself up to a ready stance, his breath steadied as he pulled the lasgun to the ready.

"Go enforce the Emperor's Law" the Cadet whispered as he tensed his finger on the trigger.

... ... ...

"Bale!" Gerrin bellowed across the firefight from behind his own ceramic statue of some famous administratum drone, a figure standing with his left arm raised, palm facing the ceiling and a white robe flowing from his shoulder – what the Administratum wished it was. Bale didn't respond with a vocal response, more a glare. "You got an idea? Any ideas?" Gerrin asked as bullets zipped past him as his Combat Squad tried to push through the wall of gunfire.

Bale growled as he snapped a bolt off toward the machine gun emplacements at the end of the hall. The Arbitrators had little progress since hitting the wall of enemy fire. Constrained to making snap shots, the Arbites made no progress against the well armed foe.

"Gerrin!" Bale bellowed.

"Yeah?"

"Calan!" Bale looked to the other Proctor, only to see a prostrate figure. "Calan!" He shouted, not affectionately or in a worried tone, more a tone like he was demanding a status report.

One of the Arbitrators kneeling near to the Proctor looked over to the Sergeant. "Proctor took a shot to the shoulder, he's out but alive." The report was short and concise – precisely what the Sergeant wanted.

"Gerrin! Take over!" Bale returned his gaze to the other carapace armoured proctor.

"Roger that!" was the response.

Bale snapped his head left and right, he could see the team Gerrin dispatched push up under heavy fire – they weren't going to last much longer.

"All Arbites!" Bale yelled. "Follow my orders and you will come out this with justice triumphant."

Gerrin sighed under his respirator – he was all for the Law and Justice but he was sure that the biggest thing on his Combat Teams mind's was the overwhelming urge to survive.

The Arbitrators roared to compliance as they waited for the Sergeant.

"On mark." Bale started as he looked to Gerrin – who nodded, ready to pass on anything to the men further down the line. "Full auto! Rapid fire!"

Gerrin turned his head to face the small enclave of Arbitrators near the information desk and logic engines. "Rapid Fire!"

A second later, the Sergeant yelled 'Mark!' and seemingly as one the Arbites all rose up over their barricades, trained their weapons roughly in the direction of the enemy, and just held down the triggers. The bolters juddered manically as the Combat Arbitrator pulled the triggers as fast as they dared, full auto on a bolter without power armour was a quick was to waste a clip, they sent volleys of high explosive rounds into the suddenly surprised perpetrators. The air filled with hundreds of magenta beams as the cadets followed the order to the letter, empting their cells in a matter of seconds, waving their white-hot barrels across the gun line like a garden-adept spreads water on his plants.

Dozens of perps – taken by surprise as fire superiority had been theirs for the longest time, were gunned down instantly, the sheer ferocity of the fire butchered at least a half dozen more. The enemy guns fell silent as they ducked instinctively behind their rough cover.

"Advance!" One of the Arbitrators bellowed and his compatriots dutifully followed, many snapping off shots as they vaulted over their cover. The cadets reloaded their lasguns before following, assaulting without a full clip was a stupid idea. Bale and Gerrin sprinted forward, taking as much ground as they could; firing bolts off as they charged. As they charged forward a bolt round creased a millimetre by Bale's helmet. Instinctively the Sergeant dropped down, autoguns, stubbers even lasguns – that was one thing, but bolters, they were controlled directly by the Adeptus Arbites on Tercius, every other organisation save perhaps the Imperial Guard and Adeptus Mechanicus had to deal with lasguns, even the Imperial Governor's own guard had to suffice with lasguns.

Gerrin saw the shot too and dived to cover. "Check fire!" He called out as Bale rose himself up behind a blasted pillar.

"Hostile!" One of the Arbitrators from the side assault returned. "Perp, thirty metres fore-right! Armoured! With bolter! Can't get a clean shot!"

Gerrin glanced at the Arbitrator. "Armoured? What?"

"Carapace Armour, Arbite pattern."

Gerrin spat. "Mother frakkers! Sonovabitch got Cole armour! Crud sucking-"

Bale shouted at the Proctor. "Enough Gerrin." He growled as he peeked out to see the perp standing with the weapon in his hands. The armour looked filthy on the perp, messy, loose and insulting. He growled again. He turned his head to Gerrin. "Armour piercing."

Gerrin growled in return as he nodded, pulling the bolt handle back, ejecting a bolt, sending it spinning and clattering to the ground. As he did he reached behind himself, to a brown demi-pach pouch that hung from his belt. From it he retrieved another bolt, this one tipped red. "Armour Piercing." He repeated as he slid the shell into the open breech. With a strong hand the Proctor slammed the bolt home. With a nod to the Sergeant, who raised his pistol and nodded in return.

An instant later, Bale flung himself out, bringing the goon into his sight. The black armour of the Arbites fell under the red dot of his bolt pistol. With a grim thought, a bolt speared out from the bolt pistol with a thunderous bang.

A bolt weapon was a deadly weapon, they fired point-seven-five calibre explosive mass reactive rounds, meaning they detonated a millisecond after impacting a target – they were incredibly effective against light and unarmoured targets, making the perfect weapon for almost all combat situations, against a dozen xenos species or domestic heretics and traitors. They were the signature weapon of the Adeptus Astartes, Adepta Sororitas – the Sisters of Battle, and Adeptus Arbites Armed Response Teams – or Combat Teams. Mesh Armour, Flak Armour and other xeno equivalents were nothing before the honed death dealer that was the bolter. However, carapace armour had been known to stop the standard bolter round, and to add testament to this thought, the round Bale fired smashed into the shoulder plate of the stolen armour, the shell failing to penetrate the plasteel.

Hence the armour-piercing round.

As Bale punched a round into the perpetrator, drawing his attention for an instant to long from the Proctor, Gerrin ripped out from cover with his weapon up. The perp' was too busy bellowing a challenge and laughing to see the second laser sight draw over his chest.

The bolter barked once.

The black carapace plate of the corpse-robber was shattered, the round punching through the golden eagle emblem over the heart of the perp, the iridium tipped mini-missile penetrated deep into the plucky pink flesh underneath the sweat soaked fatigues the criminal wore. As the round ploughed through the muscle and skin, the sudden change of material pressing against the round, from air to body fat set off the internal mechanism of the bolter round, as the pressure radically changed, the explosive component of the bolt came into play.

The soft flesh was assaulted by something new in that instant. The round detonated in a hail of shrapnel deep inside the chest of the criminal. The first thing perforated a dozen scything chunks was his lung. The life-sustaining organ was eviscerated, the bronchioles and the bronchi cleaved utterly as the bolter round parted muscle, bone, nerve, tendon, arteries and veins with ease as the round ceased to exist. To the outside viewer, it would seem the perp was shot and that was it, perhaps some superficial damage to the skin where the shrapnel pushed through, but internally the victim was shredded. Only the coroners would ever usually see the horrid after effects of one of the Imperium's favourite weapons.

The armoured perp dropped like a mannequin with its strings cut, his mouth dripping with a sudden rush of red liquid. Bale and Gerrin didn't waste a moment; they darted forward as soon as the criminal died. They pushed with weapons raised, Bale ending a perp who was trying to recover and Gerrin blowing a leg off another with a single snap of his bolter, they vaulted over the tipped desks as they charged, the Arbitrators of the Combat Teams desperately trying to keep up with their commanders.

"Sergeant! On your ten!" the side team shouted.

Bale didn't hesitate, he dropped instantly and not a moment too soon as a sudden barrage of fire cut across where his chest was occupying an instant before.

The side team snapped off a pair of shots before another wave of fire swept over them. "Two shooters!"

The harsh bark of the autoguns was close, thundering in unison as they raked the Sergeant's position. Gerrin slammed his heel into the ground to sharply end his charge, turning and bringing with boltgun up as he did, pulling the heavy weapon deep into his shoulder as he orientated on the shooters. As he peered down the iron sights of the gun, his vision flashed as one of the shooter – suddenly aware of the danger changed his target, sending a hail of tracers around the Proctor, a round punching into the shoulder of the Arbite but thankfully the plate stopped the round dead in its tracks – he still felt it though.

Gerrin ducked behind a toppled logic engine as the tracers danced across its metal surface. "Crud!" He swore violently.

The two shooters were smart, they stayed off to the side, hidden from view by the main Arbite force but capable of hosing down the entire line if they approached.

"Frak." Gerrin added as he peeked as far as he dared over the parapet. The two were close, kneeling behind some cheap wooden table. One sent a brace of fire at the Proctor as he caught sight of the top of his head.

"Crud!" The Proctor shouted.

"Gerrin!" Bale bellowed as the Proctor exclaimed in sudden panic. "Status!"

The Proctor growled, he was alive. "Bastard winged my helmet." He bit viciously. "We're pinned, any ideas?"

Bale growled back. The Sergeant glanced around, they were in a bad position to launch a counter attack, the rest of the Combat Team were kneeled behind what cover they could found, as per their training.

"On me Proctor." Bale shouted.

"Frak me, you got a plan?" Gerrin chuckled grimly.

"Double Whammy." The Sergeant returned as he ID'd targets

The Proctor sighed as he rose to a knee. "Oh, my favourite attack plan." He muttered. Mentally he counted to three – the Sergeant didn't tend to do that thing where he counts openly – years as part of Bale's Combat Team had taught Gerrin that.

As one the two flipped up – Gerrin praying heavily that he wasn't about to be riddled with auto rounds.

Before he could comprehend what was happening, the Arbite just fired as the gangers fired.

Gerrin watched one of the perps drop, the left side of his chest was replaced with a crater from a bolter round. He turned his head to see the other drop with half his head gone.

"Nice shot Sergeant." One of the Arbitrators whistled as he stood.

Bale waved the Arbitrators forward. "Move and pacify, Calan team, sweep upwards." The Sergeant turned toward the corpses of the perpetrators. They wore grey and black clothes, not quite PDF or Imperial Guard fatigues but more like the underhives nearest equivalents. The weapons however didn't look like knock-offs.

Bale twisted his head upward, his bolt pistol following his gaze. The roar of auto fire died down. As Bale picked through the smoke and debris with his eyes, he saw a figure.

Bale started forward, Gerrin following immediately with a trio of Arbitrators at his heel.

A figure, on his ass covered in ceremite dust and splattered with the blood of his comrades twitched as the Arbites approached. The figure spun his head left and right, his back was against a heavy gauge plasteel vault door, their explosive melta charges half prepared as he turned back to find himself caught in a web of red targeting lasers. Slowly, unsurely, he raised his hands meekly. The lead Arbite was tall, imposing, a pistol in his hand and a grim expression on his lips. A golden Aquila decorated his gun-arm shoulder pauldron. The barrel held unwaveringly against the perp as he stood slowly.

The perpetrator sighed in defeat – there goes his quick buck.

Bale allowed the barrel to sag as he approached the criminal. "That's him." Gerrin hissed.

"That's the bastard that shot Cole." One of the Arbitrators spat as they fanned out.

Bale heard the Arbite as he glanced over the criminal. Dressed in the same fashion as the others, the perpetrator was seemingly decently built. His weapon lay a few feet away, a gunmetal assault rifle.

"Imperial Law code four-twenty three, wilful destruction of property." Bale began, subtly enjoying the sudden change in expression on the perpetrator's face. "That's two years." He looked at the state of the inside of the bank. Bullet holes, laser burns and blood splatters, it would be days before they could re-open. Bale glanced at the assault rifle, "code five-ten, illegal possession of assault weapons..." He looked at the rifle near the criminal's feet; it definitely didn't look like a normal stubber, or even like a crappy autogun, an H-114, a cut above the usual knock-off or discards the underhive usually used. "Five years." He turned his head back to the perp as he stepped over the corpse of one of the robbers. "Code five-one-A, armed robbery with intent to grand theft, seventeen years." As he closed on the robber he held him in a heavy glare, his eyes hidden by the black visor. As he stared into the wide eyed, near-full-on-panic yet the perpetrator outwardly seemed oddly calm. "Code three-thirty-two." Bale growled, his face now very close to the robber's "Resisting arrest." He continued. "Twenty years." He shouted in the face of the perpetrator, that caused a reaction, the perp flinched visually. Bale turned slowly. The image of Arbitrator Cole, dead flashed through his head, Arbitrator Catherine, her life snatched away as they assaulted through the doors. Arbitrator Markson, killed as he tried to enforce the Lex Imperialis. He'd seen them all fall, he'd only heard about Arbitrator Corman over the vox. But he could only attribute one murder, homicide directly to this criminal. As he took a few steps away, Bale growled, "and a code one-one-five. The first degree murder of an Arbite."

The criminal lowered his hands. "Lemme guess... life?" he smirked. He didn't finish the action as a bolt smashed his skull; the detonation that followed spread his skull and grey matter across the vault door in a vivid splash of viscera.

"Death." Bale growled as he raised the smoking bolt pistol. As he watched the now brainless – pretty much headless body drop, a grim sense of fulfilment came over the Sergeant, not that he'd tell anyone that.

He analysed the situation, with the robbers dead, the hostages were as good as safe, Imperial property was saved and the creds of thousands were secure. "Court's adjourned."

The Sergeant stepped over a smashed tilling machine to move to a nearby corpse as the cleanup crews stormed in and hostages were led out. He looked over the devastated body, her stomach half-vaporised by a burst of las fire. Her head cut apart by what looked to be shrapnel from a bolt as it smashed into the plasteel pillar she took cover behind. A single un-maimed green eye looked up into the visor of the Arbite as he looked down at her.

With a free hand, the Sergeant gripped the autogun beside her by the carry handle on top. The weapon was grey and surprisingly clean. As Bale looked over the weapon, he saw that it was clean and seemingly well maintained though the weapon was peppered with dirt and blood. Bale knew a military weapon when he saw one. He turned the stock of the weapon toward him. While the Imperial Guard enforced the use of the ubiquitous lasgun – where they could, the Planetary Defence Force had to use what they could. With the formation of so many Imperial Guard Regiments in the last five years had pushed the local manufactoriams into overdrive, every new lasgun, pistol and cannon was immediately sent to the Guard, all the laser rifles with the standing Planetary Defence Force Regiments were recalled for distribution to the Guard and the Manufactoria hadn't caught up with the demand yet – especially since the Governor conscripted from the hab-estates where the Adeptus Mechanicus housed their workers.

PDFA22. This was damning. The stamp in the stock of the rifle spoke to the Sergeant, he wasn't sure what it meant, the Namkain block war had seemingly sourced weapons from the fifth armoury – last he heard the investigation was still ongoing – now a group of would be-bank robbers had PDF-issue assault rifles.

Bale growled as he saw the stamp. "Sighing?" A voice said. Bale turned to see Proctor Gerrin. Gerrin smiled as he crossed the floor. "I served on Bale Combat Squad for seven years did you forget? I remember that we kept a lexicon of nearly two-hundred and three similar but different growls. You just sighed, puzzled but you have a hunch."

"This weapon is from an armoury, the twenty-second one to be precise." Bale sidestepped the trip down memory lane by answering the veiled question.

"We talking gang cache here? Or that massive base the PDFs got just out near Mermul" – a township out of the main hive, some twelve kilometres away.

Bale sent a sideways look to the Proctor.

"PDF then." Gerrin said as he removed his helmet, allowing the brick dust to touch his short brown hair. He ran a hand through his helmet crumpled hair before finally resting his hand against his forehead. "Crud." The Proctor sighed. "Cruddity crud."

"Cruddity?" Bale looked to the Proctor. "That serious huh?" Gerrin looked back to the Sergeant. "I kept a lexicon on you, one-hundred variations on the word crud. Cruddity crud means that it's equal to a seven-point-two on Mathis' 'We're-frakked-oh-meter'" Mathis, another old teammate, now running his own Combat Team, albeit in another hive on Tercius.

Gerrin felt a laugh come to his throat. "Yes, I suppose it is." He answered with a chuckle.

"Dispatch to Sergeant Bale." The Sergeant's vox hissed, immediately the air of mild humour and remembrance turned back to the cold air of business.

"Go ahead Dispatch." Bale returned without delay as he pressed his thumb to the helmet-transceiver.

"RTP Sergeant, Provost's orders – he sounds pissed."

Bale nodded as he put the weapon back on the ground. "Roger that dispatch, returning to precinct."

Bale turned his head to the Combat Team Proctor. "I've got this." Gerrin replied without being asked. "Go, sounds urgent. I read the clips this morning, they weren't good." Again Bale growled then he turned and left.

"Mild annoyance." Gerrin translated as he heard the roar of the bike start up outside.

... ... ...

Carefully the Detective walked the steps of the Governor's Palace, the white marble clattered as her heavy plasteel boots slammed against the finely laid steps. Her black cloak fluttered and flowed close to her form as she ascended the steps toward the great door that was the opening to the vast interior halls of the Palace, gilded halls of gold that stretched to encompass almost a fifth of the entire upper level on which is sat, including the levels above and below. A truly monolithic structure, the centre of power for the entire planet, politically, and excluding the Planetary Defence Command Fortress nestled deep the Kokuris Mountains to the south, the Governor's Palace was the central command and control facility for the Eighty-Three Planetary Defence Force Divisions, three hundred regiments, that were scattered all over Tercius, from the frozen wastes of the north, to the thick green rainforests that had a stranglehold on the eastern continent, all the way to the orbital space platforms that provided tethering points for the thousands of starships that found their way to the Tercius every week. From here the Imperial Governor could control damned near the entire solar system with just a word.

The Guards at the gate were legion, seemingly, they stood the entire perimeter, and every open bit of ground was occupied by a soldier clad in vermillion and royal blue flak armour, their faces covered with blank face masks and in their hands, silver laser rifles, adamantium bayonets out.

Felicia knew that they were watching her as she approached; she counted nearly three platoons of palace guards on the entrance walls and manning the steps alone, on the way in she had counted nearly two hundred patrolling the walkways between the spires and grand halls. A private army, all for the Governor. Though, they kept their gun towers discreet, Felicia hadn't seen the heavy bolter watching her until the artificial sunlight glinted off the scope.

However, the Palace Guards remained silent, watching her as she glided through tended gardens and public parks that made up the grounds of the Imperial Palace. Her badge – openly worn on her chest kept the Guards away as she closed on the entrance, not the public one, no, this was the entrance to the inner sanctum, the true seat of power.

Felicia slowed as she came to the main gates, the Palace Guards made little to acknowledge her, though she knew, she could feel them watching, ever ready to gun her down if she proved a threat. Many a rioter had thought the Palace Guards little more than dressed up PDF soldiers and paid the price accordingly. Felicia knew a full platoon had been dispatched to train the Imperial Guard Regiment's raised in recent years after Governor Macekre's ascension.

As she left the stair and trod on the flat ground that lead to the huge moving walls of plasteel, one of the Guards stepped forward, Felicia knew the Guard, Kelly Brutus, Captain of the Guard. Around her were not the usual calibre of Palace Guard, these were clad in something akin to Carapace Armour.

"It is a dark day when I have to see you more than once a month Arbite." The Captain growled through her carapace armour. She halted a couple of metres ahead of Felicia, causing her to stop in turn. "On order of the Imperial Governor, Keeper of Tercius and your Lord, I demand you present identification, declare any weapon you bring into the Palace, and your intent." She barked harshly.

_Not the easy way then._ Felicia thought with a minor shrug. The Blonde Arbite pulled back her heavy black cowl with one hand as she reached to chest with the other, unclipping the golden symbol of her office. She looked the Captain straight on as he held her badge up level with her eyes, as she had a dozen times over the last year. "I am Felicia Calamar, Detective of the Adeptus Arbites. By rite of investigation, I demand entrance to this structure." She belted back. The rite gave Detectives and Inspectors near universal authority to enter anywhere they wanted.

"You bear arms Detective." Kelly jutted her head toward the grox hide holsters she glimpsed through the flaps of the Detective's cloak. "Care to tell what I don't see?"

Felicia smiled slyly. She placed the badge back on her chest, over her heart. With some flourish, Felicia flung her cloak back, showcasing the holsters fully to the Captain of the Guard. "As you noted _Kelly_, I declare to standard arbite issue bolt pistols, each loaded with point-seven-five bolts, same as last time. On my boot there is a standard combat knife, again like last time."

"That's all?" The Captain of the Guard asked as Felicia let the cloak drape back around her.

Felicia smirked. "That's all." She looked around at the gates and its defenders. "If there's nothing else Kelly, I have an appointment to keep."

"Have you declared that you're a psyker?" Kelly bit back harshly.

Felicia smiled sarcastically to the Captain. "You seem to have done that for me, thank you for that, deeply, now, if there's nothing else?" she noted with a slight gesture of impatience.

Kelly turned her head toward the Guards behind her. "Fine Detective. Open the gate!" She bellowed to her subordinates.  
"Thank you Kelly. I'll put your name back on the Emperor's Day Card list." Felicia smirked as she stepped forward.

Before she made three steps past the Captain, she heard something else.

"SDP! Raise the Palace Gellar Field! Psyker inside the perimeter!" The Captain commanded, her tone a superior one. Felicia wheeled around immediately, her face a mask of surprise and instant anger. Calmly the Captain of the Guard replied, "Smartass Defence Protocols."

Felicia growled something under her breath as she turned back toward the opening gates. Huge plates of ornate adamantium and plasteel swung on heavy gauge capacitors and incredibly powerful engines. Felicia could hear the creaking metal as she stepped forward, through the arching banners and icons of devotions, through to the inner sanctum of the Palace.

As the Detective passed into the embrace of the Palace, she saw things she always saw when she visited this place, hundreds of menials and servants buzzing about, though mostly clean-up team and engineering teams busying themselves after a handful of Tech-adepts. The cavernous entrance quickly dissolved into a dozen passageways to each side on four separate levels connected by thick plasteel stairs and elevators, though the central passage way remained somewhat clear, it was after all were the newly minted Imperial Guard Regiments would march through, thirty abreast after their official inauguration by the Governor – before they marched through the upper levels and mid-levels toward the spaceport.

Most of the figures gave Felicia a passing glance as the gates began to close, shutting her off from the outside world, swallowing her up in the hard luminators that hung from the ceilings and a dozen other mountings. Felicia could see a small gilded balcony off to the side at the highest level, were the Governor could watch his new soldiers off, or see his political enemies come to grovel.

Felicia powered on, largely ignoring her growing headache as the Gellar Field came up to power – it wouldn't last, either the Governor, or the Astropaths would complain and the field would be lowered in a few minutes, it was awfully reckless and quite stupid for the Captain of the Guard to do such a thing, but Felicia guessed the Governor would forgive the Captain after some paltry punishment when she told him that it was to annoy an Arbite. Luckily, the Governor wasn't around, he was at Lucius Precinct, hearing just how bad of a decision sending in the Guard was.

One figure however didn't stop looking at Felicia, the Detective focused on the figure. He wore simple robes of black with red detailing on the shoulders. His face was a cocky half-grin. Felicia knew that face, especially with those eyes and fair hair. Jonas Agrippa.

... ... ...

"Felicia" Jonas beamed at the Detective as she approached, "I wondered how long it would be before you returned to me." He commented in a joke-y tone, Felicia took it as such and chuckled to the aide.

"Well I always did like a man in uniform." She returned as drew up in front of the Aide. "Probably why I joined the Arbites, black always looked better on me then the horrid purple the PDF have to wear."

"How about red and black? All I got." Jonas shrugged with an insincere grin. "I think it brings out my eyes."

Felicia giggled lightly and smiled.

Jonas grinned wolfishly, turning and gesturing for the Detective to continue. "Come on now, you didn't come all the way here to see me."

Felicia composed herself again. "Erhm, yes." She stated with a slight giggle. "Yes, I came to see your boss."

The aide rolled his eyes. "Of course you are..."

... ... ...

The two stepped from the rough hewn metal of the gatehall into the gilded, civilised innards of the palace. The hard gunmetal floor gave way to royal plum coloured weaved carpet that dominated the guest wing of the palace. The walls were covered in vast portraits and landscapes that stretched from one end to the other. Glaring old men and made-up old women stared at the two as they passed. Held in golden metal frames and ornately hung in order of age and greatness. For nine millennia the great royal houses of Tercius, the Kriegsgestalt, the ruling order of Tercius, had elected from their heirs to the seat of power of Governor.

Beneath the great portraits of the Governors of the past were great, grox-hide bound volumes, each dedicated the long and sometimes shorts rules of the Imperial Governors of Tercius. Nearly nine full millennia of recorded history, of great wars fought for domination and rebellions put down. Glorious battles matched sometimes by the outlandish marriages and great heroic tales of lovers separated by class and house, the stuff the girls of the scholas dreamed for as they watched the holos and theatre performances based – somewhat loosely – on the tales. Felicia had seen a few, for some reason they all seemed to end well for the couple in question, very little bloodshed. Another thing the detective noted was that all the male leads, the sons of the royal houses, were always dashing, heroic and downright gorgeous with the hordes of teenage female fans lusting after them every time they showed an inch of flesh – which seemed to be disturbingly often.

The names of the Governors past were engraved in High Gothic, the 'official' and standardised language of the Immortal Emperor's Holy Imperium of Man. A somewhat alien language compared to low gothic, the language the Imperium actually spoke. Felicia knew the dialect from her own homeworld of Gilithion, and another from Tercius, thankfully Low Gothic was somewhat universal in its primarily tenses, nouns and verbs, so all Felicia needed to do was adapt – something the blonde arbite was quite able at.

"I've seen longer." Jonas said offhandedly.

"Hmm?" Felicia returned as her eyes darted over what seemed to be hundreds of plaques and scrolling data-walls, thousands of names of Imperial Guards Heroes that originated from Tercius and trod across the star in the path of eternal war against heresy, traitors and the alien.

"Halls of Glory." Jonas clarified. "I've seen ten times larger, with portraits the size of battle tanks."

"Really?" Felicia returned in a dull tone as her eyes graced a statue of what looked to be an Imperial Guardsman, his face masked. The stone was black, obsidian, threatening and ultimately cold. Felicia squinted slightly to read the silver plaque set into the marble base around the Guardsman.

'In honour of the fallen two-hundred and thirty second regiment of the Imperial Guard, hailing from the Cucso Hive of Tercius, who stood the line unfaltering upon the Cadian Line, 532.M36.

They stand now, forever with the Emperor.'

"Yeah." Jonas looked to the unhooded Detective, her crystal blue eyes darting backwards and forwards, methodical as they took everything in as the two serenely marched ever closer to the inner sanctum. "Some have entire regiments on guard."

Felicia looked to the aide with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, and some have Titans I suppose?"

"Yup." Jonas nodded. "Big ones."

"Where? Your home I suppose, everything's better at home." She sighed. "It always is, the Palaces, the soldiers... the food." She lowered to a grumble as she turned away.

"Terra."

"How hard is it to find a good pastry maker on this dirt ball?" Her head snapped back "What."

"Terra, Segmentum Solar. They have Titans there, dozens of them, and Astartes in golden armour and silly plumed helmets."

"Groxcrap." Felicia returned sharply.

"It's true." Jonas grinned his usual wolfish grin.

"Do you have any idea how many people claim to be from Holy Terra, or Mars, or anywhere within the Sol System?"

Jonas shook his head. "I never said I was from there. You asked where they had Titans, they do on Terra, I've seen it, Imperator-Class, Warlord-Class, Reaver-Class, every class imaginable."

Felicia furred her brow and narrowed her eyes at the Aide. "Please refer to my earlier statement of groxcrap."

Jonas snickered. "I am an aide to an Imperial Representative, the eyes and ears of the High Lords, where she goes, I go, and she has to give her reports in person, upon Terra's holy soil – last time the report took two days so we gave ourselves our own tour of the Imperial Palace – pissed the Custodes off no end."

Felicia drew to a halt, Jonas reacted a few steps later before turning to look the blonde arbite in the eyes.

Felicia raised her eyebrows questioningly and tilted her head forward. "You have stepped not only on Holy Terra, a pilgrimage in and of itself, but within the walls of the Imperial Palace, the site of the Golden Throne? On business!" She stressed before shaking her head and looking away. "I'm in the wrong line of work."

Jonas guffawed loudly, his head arching back towards the high ceiling, his hand pressed to his chest as he tried to control himself. After a moment his breath began to run short and he began to control himself. "I had no idea you were so devout." He breathed through deep gulps of air.

"I'm not, it's just." Felicia answered with a half shrug and a look of annoyance mixed with surprise.

Jonas grinned again. "I preferred your 'surprised' face, but that one isn't bad." He laughed again. "Don't sweat it. It isn't all that, too many skulls-in-the-walls for my liking, not to mention it stinks, they lay the incense on thick. The guards are stuffy and the food sucks."

"Really?" Felicia asked with a tilt of her head and slight squint.

"Yup." Jonas nodded. "It tastes like they poured incense into the soup, then combined it with more incense, then added a dash of incense to give it flavour."

"That bad huh?"

"Yup, but before you get to eat it, it needs blessing by what must be the slowest priest in the entire Imperium, because it's always cold, always stone cold. I don't think demi-pach with shroom soup should be chewy."

"Err." Felicia recoiled slightly, her nose flaring in mimicked disgust.

Jonas nodded. "That was my reaction." He glanced to his chronometre on his wrist. "Oh frak, we better get a move on, the Representative wanted to see you about... ten minutes ago."

Felicia sighed. "You know how to impress your boss don't you."

"It's a gift." Jonas laughed as the two turned and began their journey through hall again.

... ... ...

"TURN IT OFF!" Relena called out as her hands clamped to her head.

"Relena!" The Tech Priest hissed as he caught a falling vase with his mechadendrite while the Astropath thrashed around the inner sanctum. Unfortunately gravity was against the Tech Priest because as he caught it with the thin metal tail, it turned downwards, spilling the contents – one bunch of Sciyria Roses and a half litre of water – onto the pristine white carpet.

"TURN! IT! OFF!" The Astropath cried as she barrelled into a fine mahogany painted table, her eyes screwed shut in pain.

"Miss Relena, calm down." The raven-haired leader of the bodyguard shouted as she tried to grab hold of the psyker.

"By the Throne! What the hell happened here?"

Charon turned his head toward the closing Lakios and another of the bodyguard. The two rushing toward the noise from the other room. The giant man looked at the devastation left by the panicked Astropath.

"Lakios! Get to the Palace Control Centre and shut down the Null Field over the Inner Sanctum! Now!" The bodyguard leader yelled as she caught a handful of aqua robes, causing the Astropath to fall over into a screaming mess.

Lakios turned on his heel, he didn't need to be told twice and set off at speed. The boots of the man thudded down the halls as the raven-haired leader tried to control the Astropath. As the great man stomped away, the leader of the bodyguards leapt on the Astropath, using her own body weight to pin the psyker to the ground.

"Damn she feisty!" The leader hissed as the Astropath trashed against the tight grip. "Makil, get over here, get her legs!" The leader ordered one of her team who complied obediently, throwing herself into her duty and restraining the Astropath quickly and professionally as the bodyguard leader wrapped a controlling arm around the Astropath's throat, the mere skin-on-skin contact caused an iota of the migraine the psyker was feeling to be passed straight to the leader. "Frak!" She yelped as she winced.

"What in the name of the Throne!" Another voice cut across the room. Charon turned his head after righting one of the knocked over breakfast tables to see Lady Lognus sweep into the lounge area, her face a mask of surprise and annoyance. "Wolfgang! Why are you man-handling Relena! Charon, what is all this mess? And why did I just pass Lakios, who looked to be trying to set a new lap record around the palace?" The Representative half-roared.

Charon bowed his head. "All one and the same my lady."

"Care to explain?" Mary shot the Tech Priest an agitated glare.

"Someone turned on the Palace Null Field, Relena here – huff – Relena here went nuts." The leader of the bodyguard, Andreas Wolfgang, called back as she struggled to keep hold on the agitated psyker.

The Representative sighed heavily as her white gloved hands touched her face. House Caladan was hosting a rather expensive ball for their latest acquisition, a rather lucrative mining colony on Tercius' moon of Tabr which happened to coincide with the birthday of the family heir. The Representative was to meet with the Elders of the House to discuss this acquisition and other bits of business after her meeting with the Arbite Detective, but the party of course meant something sensible to wear was out of the question.

"Nice dress ma'am." Wolfgang commented as she looked at the Representative.

The only thing Mary Lognus had that was still clean was a ridiculous all-white ensemble, white dress, white gloves, and a furred white coat-come-cloak with gold embroidery forming the seal of the Estate Imperium. Around her neck was a White-Star Diamond, an incredibly rare gem, no larger than a thumbnail but costing a vast fortune, more than some people make in their entire lifetimes.

"I feel like I'm going to a frakking wedding." Mary sighed heavily.

Wolfgang snickered, "At least it's not yours again."

Mary sighed again. "It wasn't all bad, food was nice." She reached up to her hair and yanked on a small red pin hidden inside the thick bun of hair on her head. As the pin came away, the thick ruby hair came cascading down, framing her face and down to her neck.

Relena was breathing slowly now, the sleeperhold the bodyguard taking affect quickly. "Thank the Throne; I thought she'd fight forever." Wolfgang muttered as she stood.

"Clearly you've never seen her with another psyker." Mary remarked as she stretched. "At it like a pair of Larisels."

Wolfgang shivered. "Not an image I needed ma'am."

Mary sent Wolfgang a dry glance. "You didn't walk in on them." The Representative looked over the scene, toppled chairs, tables overturned, vases smashed and what looked to be slow-cooked grox steak soaking into the white carpet. "Oh sweet..." she remarked as she glanced over the waste of food, after fasting herself for the food at the business-come-birthday celebration – she was starving.

Wolfgang and Makil, with a gesture from the bodyguard leader, lifted the prone, sleeping psyker off the floor and onto one the supple Nauga couches.

"I've yet to hear an explanation about Lakios setting a new Imperial record for 'panicked-sprint down the hall'." Mary rested her hands on her hips as she looked the three members of her retinue in turn.

Wolfgang dusted herself off as she cast a glance over her shoulder to the Representative. "I sent him to deactivate the Null Field." She sighed, "That bastard things starting to give me a headache."

"Uh huh." Mary nodded shallowly. After another groan as she surveyed the devastation she looked to Charon. "Charon, are the cogitators online? We needed to start collating data yesterday. The Imperial Guard aren't making this easy for normal procedure."

The silver faced Tech Priest turned to the Imperial Representative. "When do they ever?" He shrugged. "Cogitators three through six are online and collating. One, two and seven are being problematic."

Mary bowed her head and sighed once again, a long tired sigh. "Ok." She raised her head to the Tech Priest. "First, threaten them with the rite of deconstruction and re-creation, and if that doesn't work, try a more physical approach, a size three spanner should be a good start."

The Tech Priest chuckled – or at least as close as he could get to a chuckle. "Standard equipment repair procedure then, I'll get right on it."

"Wolfgang." Mary stated as she turned her head to the bodyguard leader. The raven-haired soldier nodded. "Clean this place up. Also, tell your Bravo Team to prepare in the conference room for standard action and patrol."

"Ma'am." The Bodyguard saluted before reaching to a portable vox hidden beneath her cloak. "Cobalt to Cobalt Two Actual." She began to she stepped past the Representative.

Mary cut across the floor, making sure to sidestep the spoiling steak as she reached the far end of the room from the wide fine wood doors, near to where the Astropath was sleeping softly.

Mary looked over the pale companion for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall, her hooded eyes flutter and her lips silently whispers the litany of protection. It brought a warm smile to Mary's face. The Astropath's robes where parted, showing that in the confusion of the Null Field activation, the frenzied psyker had torn her silk purple shirt down the centre, exposing the woman to the world. The bandages underneath were plainly visible, her earlier wound though staunched by excellent first aid, still needed to heal, something was staining the white bandage as Mary looked closer. Carefully Mary pulled the ripped shirt open to examine the wound on her flank. While one held the thin fabric up, the other reached forward, past the breast of the psyker to the gauze held in tight bandages, slowly the Representative touched the area around the gauze; it was hard, swollen to the touch, but definitely red. Cautiously the Representative lifted one edge of the gauze. As she did, a small stream of deep red blood swam out at speed, staining the finger tips of the white glove and running down the pale skin of the psyker. With a groan and a sigh the Representative pressed the bandage down firmly, wiped her fingers on the white cloth and withdrew, closing the psyker's shirt and pulling the aqua robe over her like a blanket.

"Ma'am?" A voice came from behind, metallic, Charon. "Will she be ok? Null Fields can be disastrous on psykers unprepared for such an event, especially those trapped within them."

Mary turned and shot a quick smile to the amalgam of machine and metal. "She'll be alright, it seems in the confusion, she re-opened her wound." To this the Tech Priest nodded understandingly.

"Everything must heal, flesh, hearts, even those of steel, and they say time heals all wounds, ergo all she needs is time." The Tech Priest said in reply.

Mary lowered her head slightly but smiled and nodded. "Yes, yes, quite, logical Charon."

The Tech Priest bowed his head. "I try." His ocular shutters squawked and whined as they widened. He was smiling.

The two held the silence for a moment before the hiss of a vox broke it like a hammer.

"Jonas to upstairs, I'm coming in, one guest, Detective – please don't vaporise us, I've got half a cup of recaf still to be drunk."

Mary cast another glance across the room even as Alpha team of the Bodyguard unit started to clean methodically. She saw the brownish pool under one of the windows. "Scratch that recaf." She uttered.

Unconsciously the Representative started to pat herself for her own vox, instead only finding a cream belt with no vox transmitter. "Frak." She hissed as she looked down and she commenced a full body search for her wayward vox.

"Ma'am." Charon said after a moment causing Mary's head to snap up. Dangling in front of her face was a small black box with a thick aerial suspended by one of the Tech Priest's mechadendrites.

With a half-smile and a mouthed thanks, the Representative took the vox and touched the transmit key. "Come on up Jonas." She responded cleanly before handing the vox back to its owner. Charon quickly placed the small device back into the recesses of his thick crimson cloak without once moving his actual arms. Mary tilted her head with an amused look. "If you keep avoiding exercise, you'll grow fat, the way you eat."

"The way I eat?" Charon responded questioningly. "Slowly, methodically and minimally."

"Yup." Mary nodded with a grin. "It may take millennia, but I've seen older – and fatter Magos."

The two held the look for a moment, one a face of amusement, the other a silvery mask of confusion. It lasted until the Representative cracked and let out a full on giggle.

"What." Charon muttered as the Representative collected herself.

"Fat Tech Priest."

... ... ...

Once again this month, the huge golden doors lay before her, the carved image of the Emperor and the nine Primarchs loomed over the Detective as she followed the Aide to the door. The carpeted floor had turned to white marble and her boots rang off it with each step. Beside her every few metre where huge stone pillars going up easily thirty feet to the high ceiling, upon which some poor man had painted an entire retelling of the Great Crusade. At the moment, Felicia was under the section where the entire universe was united under the Emperor and his nine Primarchs.

"Nearly a hundred floors later and we're here." Jonas remarked as he closed on the doors. Two Palace Guards stood to attention to each side, one of the Representative's Bodyguards with them, the man, unlike the Palace Guards who held Lasguns, had a combat shogun slung over one arm.

"Aide Agrippa." The Guard grumbled with a nod as the two approached.

"Guard Thomas." Jonas returned with a smile. "Could you open the door please?"

The Guard responded quickly, turning on his heel and looking into the golden frame, beside it was a small black, featureless panel, without a second glance, the bodyguard pressed his hand against the smooth black surface. Something beeped somewhere and an instant later the heavy motors whirred as the doors opened, spilling silvery light from the sanctum into the hallway.

"I suppose this is you second visit, but for what it's worth, welcome to me humble abode." Jonas grinned to Felicia, who chuckled shortly in return.

"Your abode Jonas?" A voice rang out from the Inner Sanctum entrance. Both the Detective and the Aide turned their heads at once to see the Representative stood, resplendent in pure white, crystal blue eyes and burning crimson hair flowing down to her shoulder, in the centre of the marble floor, the Tech Priest at her shoulder and the bodyguard leader at the other. "Last I checked, I was the Imperial Representative, not you."

"Forgiveness ma'am." Jonas half-bowed, to which the Representative smiled in return.

"Detective Calamar, welcome back, I hope you will stay for more than a moment this time." Mary addressed Felicia directly.

Felicia bowed slightly. "I hope to ma'am, I have informed Dispatch not to interrupt me for the time being."

Mary smiled. "Good." She turned sideways on. "Please, come inside." The Detective stepped inwards beside Jonas.

... ... ...

"Red or White?" Mary asked as she led the small group into the sitting room further in, thankfully Relena had recovered somewhat, and since she wasn't raving, Mary assumed that Lakios had convinced whoever was operating the Null Field to lower it. The psyker looked the worse for wear, what little colour was in her pale cheeks had vacated. She excused herself quickly while hugging her cloak around her.

"What?" Felicia asked as she sat one of the nalwood tables – now cleaned by the bodyguard detail before the Detective arrived.

"Red or White?" Mary asked again. "Wine?"

"Oh." Felicia realised. "None for me thank you, I'm on duty."

"I'll have the white." Mary remarked to one of the serving girls they group had gained as they moved through the sanctum. One bowed and moved away obediently. "Detective, can I get you some recaf instead?"

"Please, same as last time if it's no bother." Felicia smiled.

Charon stepped forward. "I'll handle that, I'm feeling thirsty." The Tech Priest said to one of the serving girls. Felicia smiled as the Tech Priest stepped out the room for a moment.

Mary sat across from the Detective as the serving girl handed her a glass of wine, the Representative took it easily and brought it to her nose. "Now Detective." The Representative said as she experienced the aroma of the wine before taking an experimental sip. "You clearly have something to talk about, so, say it. I am a very busy woman."

_So the innocent, naive girl act has gone, now we're on to either party girl or business woman_, Felicia thought to herself as she gathered her thoughts. "Well, my last trip here gave me a great deal of information on the... Tyranids, this information filled in quite a few blanks, but a few remain and new evidence has come to life."

"What kind of evidence?" Mary cut in quickly as she took another sip.

Felicia opened her mouth but was cut off as a mechadendrite placed a cup and saucer in front of her. "Thank you." The Detective nodded to the passing Tech Priest. She turned her head back to the Representative. "Err, about a week ago, as you know, the Imperial Guard with some PDF Battalions engaged gang elements in the underhive."

"In fact it was the reason you left." Wolfgang noted.

Felicia nodded. "Yes, but only because of what was reported." She turned back to Mary. "While I was there, I killed something. Several Imperial guard elements corroborate this evidence but the Imperial Commissariat lifts them outside my authority – not for lack of trying. I however managed to make contact with an Imperial Guard Officer, one Lieutenant Ruthann. He saw what I killed with a bolt pistol."

"A cultist?" Mary interjected "Tunnel fighting can be chaotic."

Felicia shrugged, "Most cultists don't have carapace, claws and bulbous heads. I've got one in storage, blown to bits but the med-teams can't make heads or tails of it. "

Mary snapped her head to the Detective, her eyes wide and intense. Felicia didn't need her sniffin' sense to feel the sudden tension in the room. "Where." The Representative demanded sharply.

"Eastern Tunnels, Underhive." Felicia responded.

Mary unclipped her cloak as she stood up, with a few words and a quick gesture, she sent the servings girls away in a hurry, without a second glance the Imperial Representative cast her exquisite cloak on to the couch where Relena had lain. "Show me." Mary turned to the Detective after a moment.

Felicia shook her head. "Can't."

"Why!"

"Active Crime Scene, no non-Arbite personnel get within a hundred metres of that place." Felicia explained sharply – this was none negotiable, this was the word of the Law speaking.

Mary snarled for a moment. "I am ordering you to take me there."

Again Felicia shook her head. "You don't have that power and you know that. It's an Active Crime Scene, this isn't protocol, this is Law, and an Imperial Representative of the Estate doesn't have the authority to overrule the Law where Arbites enforce it, paragraph five, article one, Interoperation of Imperial Agencies – required reading for any Detective worth their salt."

"I have that Authority." Mary was quick to mention, her patience running thin.

Felicia stood with an apologetic look on her face. "Then, I'm going to need written permission from the Adeptus Arbites Marshall – and he's in Ferroc Hive at the moment."

Mary cast Felicia a dirty look but the Detective held her ground.

"You are going to let me into those tunnels, you are going to reveal all evidence of this investigation to me and my agents, and you will do so, now." The Representative said through gritted teeth. "I know this is what you want to do Detective, but I have the authority."

"Then let's see it, because I want to help you, you've helped me more then you know." Felicia responded with a sympathetic tone.

"She has the authority, please Felicia, just show us the crime scene." Jonas spoke softly from behind the blonde arbite.

Mary however had reached to her waist in an instant, she drew an equal gaze against Felicia, capturing her eyes instantly, and as she spoke she raised something in her right gloved hand. "By the Authority of Immortal Emperor of Mankind." She spoke calmly as her right hand reached eye level with Felicia not four feet away. A simple circular object was in her hand, red, dark red. Inside was a single symbol.

An capitalised I, crossed at the top and bottom, bisected in the middle by two smaller lines, a skull above it and a ring of words in High Gothic below.

"By Inquisitorial Mandate, you will show me these tunnels, you will release to me all evidence and information you have collated during this investigation and you will comply fully with me to further this investigation." Inquisitor Mary Lognus proclaimed.


	14. The Stone Burner

"Command! Command! Command couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery!" Razler yelled back to Soran as the two sauntered their way through the company 'barracks' – a heavily damaged, recently vacated block of habs, nearly two and a half thousand people displaced, not that the PDF units that shepherded them away seemed to care. The halls were littered, not just with broken masonry and cracked floorboards, but dozens and dozens of bedrolls, discarded rations rappers, not to mention the throngs of Guardsmen from Third Company of the Tercian Five Hundred and Ninth Regiment in their grey, black and white urban warfare fatigues and solid grey armour, as they lounged about, their destiny still in the hands of the 'Command' Razler was referencing.

The Regimental Headquarters and Service Company, housing the Colonel and her command staff, but also the logistical structure that kept the soldiers fed, informed and warm – though not all three at the same time if they tried. Within the H&S Company also existed the Regiment's compliment of Adeptus Mechanicus Enginseers – they looked after the regiment's armoured personnel carriers and the myriad other vehicles required to move the entire regiment from warzone to warzone and fight effectively, and the more general Engineers, they doubled as sappers and technicians, laying wires for communication, or more exotically, digging in mines for the enemy to discover.

Doors to various hab-blocks swung limply, barged in as they were, or in some cases blown off during the fighting. The battle had been short, but bloody and the Imperial Guard and Planetary Defence Force were wary of a second offensive. Razler saw a few trooper laying on tattered sofas with their kit bags behind their heads as makeshift pillows.

The two recently released Guardsmen stepped over pairs of legs as they moved on, lasguns hanging limply over their shoulders.

"Were you pukes goin'?" One of the Guardsmen called out as he looked up from his position with his back against the wall and his legs out into the middle of the corridor. His helmet was laid beside him as he wore his black soft beanie pulled down over his brow.

Razler slowed to look at the trooper. "Third 'toon. Who are you?"

The Guardsman pulled the beanie up to look the soldier in the eye. "Sergeant Corral, around here is sixth, you third guys are up, top floor."

Razler nodded and smiled. "Outstanding." He looked over his shoulder to Soran who was picking his way through. "Top floor, onwards we go."

As the two moved off, the Sergeant looked after them. "Elevators out."

Soran stopped to look back. "How many stories in this place."

"Fifteen, you're on the third floor now."

"Wonderful... Thanks sergeant." Soran groaned as he turned back to his now longer trek.

... ... ...

"Holy Emperor." Farrell exclaimed as he ducked back into the corridor. His skin turning a shade of white not natural to the human pallor while the recently evicted Arbites meandered through the corridors. The Dispatch staff didn't take to well to the loitering Arbitrators hanging around, drinking recaf while they worked themselves closer to death.

Thall and Cairn shot the fellow Arbitrator strange looks as Farrell seemed to press himself into the wall paint. "What are you doing?" Cairn asked as he glanced back and forth down the bustling corridor, deciding whether or not it was worth it just to leave Farrell to looking silly on his own.

"Provost." The Arbitrator hissed sharply. Thall looked left and right, there was a clot of Cadets building around the side portal, each quickly glancing into the corridor that lead toward the central chamber at the heart of the Precinct.

"So?" Cairn shrugged. "So what. The boss isn't a complete ogryn." Thall stepped past Farrell before coming to a stop at the plasteel armoured corner.

Thall whistled as he poked his head around the corner sipping from his quarter full recaf as he turned back. He nodded slowly as he looked between the two fellow Arbite. He took another long sip of the lukewarm liquid. "Well." He started. "The Provost may not be an Ogryn." He glanced back around the corner. "But the big guy with the Governor in Palace Guard colours may be."

"What?" Cairn exclaimed as he pressed forward. As he came around the corner he saw who Thall was talking about instantly.

He looked like a massive mound of muscle with legs. Easily as large as the Provost, perhaps larger. He stood over the shoulder of the far smaller Governor, dwarfing the man completely. His chest was clad in segmented plates of carapace armour with thick round shoulder plates that hung heavy over his gargantuan biceps. His fist were clad in similarly thick gauntlets, the fingers of which looked like they could crush the life out of a rampaging grox with ease. As the giant turned, his heavy boots thundered as they struck the ceremite floor. Cairn never got to see the eyes of the man-monster as his entire head was encased in plasteel, with glinting red lenses burning at everything around him.

"Is... is that an assault cannon?" Cairn breathed as his eyes widened as the monster turned, displaying the monster of metal that was strapped to his back. It had four barrels protruding from a solid block of plasteel and a round drum magazine that looked as thick as a Joining Day Cake.

"Maybe, but the drum looks a little small for an assault cannon." Thall remarked as he stepped fully around the corner, downing what was left of his recaf in a single go.

"I, have, no, idea." Farrell hissed as he turned the corner. "What the hell is that thing?"

Cairn looked to Farrell. "How would I know." He turned his head to the giant. "Astartes? Doubt it." The Arbite shrugged, "Perhaps some sort of super mutant, or..." Cairn trailed off as another figure stepped up.

The boots rang as they crossed the hall, mixing sounds with the chains that hung from eagle-faced shoulder to breastplate, the golden engraved badge of the Adeptus Arbites proudly displayed over the heart of the Arbite. The Arbite drew to a halt beside the Provost before turning to look at the Governor, who looked of curiously, then to the massive lump of muscle and flesh beside him. He wasn't the only Arbite around still in his black carapace armour; he was the only one wearing his helmet. The Arbite turned to face the monster head on, his legs slightly apart and his fists resting on his waist.

Cairn sighed. "Bale is seriously not squaring up against that thing." He was.

... ... ...

"We will discuss this later, Provost." Macekre growled as he marched from the inner sanctum of the Arbites Command Post, Krael on his heel closely toward the brace of carapace armoured guards in the traditional colours of the Governor's Palace Guards. Among them was a humongous figure, his head hidden behind a respirator and combat helmet combination, they glared at the provost as he moved from the eight other soldiers to the Governor's side. Macekre grinned wolfishly as the massive guard arrived by his shoulder. He turned toward the Provost crossing his arms as his heel ringed off the ceremite floor tiles. He looked at the provost in his Power Armour, sans his helmet. The armour was silver but highlighted in black, the bright day-lamps of the precinct highlighting the edges of the heavy plate. The Provost wore the trademark black cloak over his shoulders, concealing his arms and his weapons. "As riveting as I find these meetings, I have more pressing matters to attend too, House Kaitan is causing some ruckus."

"I'm sure, whatever it is requires your immediate attention." The Provost replied dryly. "I'll just go back to ensuring that you still have a capital to keep your court in."

The Governor smiled wickedly. "Good job so far, keep it up."

"Uh huh." The Provost grunted before looking to the man mountain that took up position behind the aggravating bastard. "And must you bring him everywhere? Him and a squad of armed soldiers to my precinct?"

Macekre shrugged and cast a glance at the large armoured guard behind him. "Second Lieutenant Frank Harrigan goes where I go." He cast a dirty glare to the Provost. "You have no say in who I take as my guard." In return to the glare, Krael made an apologetic gesture but said nothing. Macekre drew his cloak around him as the soldiers started to form up after one voxed the small convoy of armoured vehicles in Palace Guard livery outside the precinct.

Krael eyed the governor. "This won't go away."

Macekre shook his head. "No, Provost, no it won't."

As the Macekre stopped talking, a fresh pair of boots entered the surrounding noise. Krael and Macekre turned their heads to see one Arbite marching toward the group. "I hope you don't mind Governor." Krael said, "But I've asked Sergeant Bale to escort you back to your palace." He grinned while the Governor wasn't looking, the governor grimaced.

"Provost." Bale saluted sharply as he drew up beside the commander of the precinct. Krael returned the action swiftly, as he did the Sergeant turned his head toward the governor and grumbled a greeting. The Governor sneered in return and nodded. Bale turned fully toward the Second Lieutenant, the monster known as Frank Harrigan. "Harrigan." The veteran Arbite growled.

"Bale." Harrigan returned, his voice converted by his helmet's vox-caster, turning it to a deep, harsh tone, which probably wasn't too far from his normal voice. The big man had to look up at Harrigan who had just to look down at his nose. They stood in silence for a moment, their eyes both shielded by their helmets, though that didn't stop them trying to pry into the other through eye contact alone. The silence was broken by a hasty cough by the Provost. The Governor raised a hard eyebrow toward the Provost and turned away silently, he knew the meaning of the gesture, get out of my precinct, and he was happy to oblige.

"Bale." Harrigan growled as he turned away, doggedly following his charge.

"Harrigan." Bale snorted as he let them get a few metres away before following, easily overtaking them as the exited the precinct under the hard gazes of the milling Arbitrators, Chasteners, Combat and Shock team members and Cadets who plastered themselves to the walls at the sight of the Imperial Governor. The squad followed sharply, their lasguns handing in their hands and their eyes peering and examining everyone they came across.

Kreal watched silently as the troupe trudged off toward the noise of warming engines. As they reached a good distance the Provost sighed heavily. "Emperor help me." He breathed as he lowered his head for a moment and rubbing his forehead. He sighed again as he raised his head, He sighed a third time as he turned back toward his Command Centre.

... ... ...

"What in the Emperor's name was that?" Farrell asked as the trio of Arbitrators took cautious steps forward through the junction to the chamber. "I thought the Governor swore never to enter this precinct."

Cairn shrugged. "Must have been important, the Provost didn't look happy."

Farrell looked over his shoulder to the fellow Arbite. "He never does, but he looked... drained." Cairn nodded. "What the hell could it be."

Thall stepped forward, casting his recaf cup into a nearby by recycle receptacle. "The Imperial Guard. They've destabilised the entire situation in the underhive."

Cairn cast a glance over his shoulder at Thall. "No crud." He looked back to the chamber at large. "I haven't got any idea what's going on down there these days. But I'm sure as hell glad I didn't pull patrol duty for anywhere down there." The former sniper remarked as a cluster of cadets scuttled past, each clutching a dozen textbooks. Their uniforms were pristine, as were there faces with their looks of amazement. Their heads were spinning to see everything and craning back to see the diorama's painted into the ceilings and walls.

Farrell and Thall watched them for a moment while Cairn seemed gone in thought. Farrell sighed and turned his head to Thall who shrugged; they'd seen this scene before, new cadet-recruits, fresh from the Schola Progenium in the Tercian Asus-Minor Region to the north, buried in the snow and ice just off the isolated mini-continent. Asus-Major, the larger island, was one of the primary depots for the Planetary Defence Force, hosting three separate divisions of soldiers and armoured vehicles along with their support structures.

"You cadets new?" Farrell belted out as he stepped forward toward the group of mildly-terrified twelve year olds in black, neat uniforms. They turned on the spot as the armoured Arbite rounded on them, his face grinning, a face practised with years with Davies.

"Yes sir." One uttered back weakly, his voice taken by the environment somehow. "We all are." The small boy noted with a look to the other boys and girls around him. There were about twenty-two in all, each clutching dataslates and sling-bags tightly as they huddled together seemingly for protection. A few looked like they'd been in a fight or two, evident by the crooked noses or pale scar tissues on their brows – or they may have just fallen down a flight of stairs, which was Farrell's favourite excuse when he turned up to a class with his forehead split open by Cadet-Recruit Donald's fist. The Tutors knew, but Farrell was unsure they cared, as long as it didn't happen inside their class-halls, they didn't make any effort to stop it outside a few half-hearted lectures about bullying.

Farrell smiled to himself, he could see the bewilderment in their eyes. They may have been the big dogs at the Schola, now they were small fish in a very large pond, a pond with sharks and the occasional whale when the Marshall was around.

"I assume you're supposed to be on your way to your dorms?" Farrell asked. "First day?"

The boy who spoke nodded fervently. "We were just taking a detour when..." One of the girl's said before drifting off with mild embarrassment from the sudden attention.

"Lost." Farrell finished with a grin. He shrugged. "Don't worry, come on, let's see if we can't where you're supposed to be." He said as he gestured for the swarm of Cadets to follow him, leaving Thall watching with a warm smile as Farrell waved good-bye.

... ... ...

"Clear left." Rally chimed as he swept forward in a low crouch, his weapon raised in preparation as he entered the central processing area. He stepped forward while Markin, another of the bodyguards followed swiftly behind.

"Clear right." He echoed the scout as he stepped from the deep pool of shadow into the hard glare of the luminators. The other bodyguards and Adeptus Arbites waited tensely as the two swept forward, checking the wide open killzone for any lingering hostiles.

The two slowed their fast paced sweep, kneeling about ten metres from the entrance, a rough hewn but man-made entrance, the hall luminators were somewhat shot out during the Imperial Guard pull out, this combined with the group 'dousing' – an Imperial Guard slang-term meaning to turn off luminators and other light sources – made the group rather invisible in the darkness.

Rally swept his luminator beam across the area once more before glancing to Markin, who returned the fast look before turning his head back to his sector. Rally silently waved to Jonas who knelt at the edge of the darkness, in a single move, the squad advanced as a single organic unit, with the Arbites hovering hesitantly, watching as the Inquisitorial Bodyguards in Chastener armour spread out quick and efficiently, each covering one another on their advance through the wide area.

In a few moments they had come to a slow stop in the centre of the processing area. There Jonas stood in the centre of the kneeling group, each silent but sharp, their luminator beams scouring every inch of blasted rock and plasteel girder. The Sergeant's head turned like a Drych-cat searching for its prey. Felicia watched Jonas intently, his manner, mood, everything about him. If she didn't know better, if she didn't know the guy underneath, she'd would of thought that in front of her was a Chastener with a dozen years in under his belt. That was only what her eyes told her, her mind was drawing in the hard thoughts and actions of the Sergeant and his squad like a grox at a watering hole.

Jonas looked toward the darkened entrance over his shoulder, after a moment the sergeant jerked his head, indicating that the Arbites should follow. Felicia nodded as she gestured the others forward.

They scampered across the ground quickly, Ashe and Kasov kept their shotguns at the ready while Felicia rested her hands on her sidearms. Her eyes were everywhere, much like the Chastener luminators. She could feel something, something clinging to the walls of the processing area like a fine mist, it irritated her, something beyond her eyes, but not yet in the realm of her psychic sight – though the term sight is incorrect, nothing could be 'seen' truly in the Warp, yet sight was the most adept term.

Felicia was incapable of Warp-sight, she wasn't powerful enough. She was quite thankful that she could not openly perceive the Warp, but sometimes, on the peripheries of her mind, sometimes she could feel a slight tingle, like now, a warm tingle, almost wet-like clung to the plasteel and dripped into her mind. But to the annoyance of the detective, while she could 'feel' the residue, she could not realise what she was feeling, only that it was there.

The taste of copper filled her nose as she breathed deep, the coppery tang of blood. Felicia swept her head from side to side, and sure enough, bodies, dozens of them, many in robes, a few in dark grey Imperial Guard uniforms. Felicia quickly marked them as mechanised infantry soldiers with the five-oh-seventh regiment. Their weapons, las-carbines if Felicia remembered correctly, were suspiciously missing. The Detective grumbled to herself darkly.

"Bodies, frags, spent mags, must of been one hell of a fight." Kasov remarked as he swept wide around a stack of disused mine carts. His face took on an expression of half-awe as he looked over a blown apart hall, and the viscera of some poor bastard caught in what he assumed was the result of a frag grenade.

"Or a slaughter." Ashe returned. "The Guard held this place, look at the bodies, the Guard cut them apart as they attacked."

"And they still had to retreat." Felicia remarked coldly as she reached the Interrogator.

Jonas glanced over his shoulder to the Detective. He looked back to the stone walls and plasteel rafters, each pool of darkness, each a possible hiding space for the xeno, every hall an entry point for those under their thrall. He mulled silently as he looked over his team, soldiers all, each battle-hardened, not like the recently founded regiments, who only experience was either in the PDF putting down the odd rebellion down or something more akin to riot action then true war. No, the four men and woman around Jonas had faced the myriad threats the Inquisitor had faced in her career, let alone the wars each had taken part in the time in the Imperial Guard. Still, even with a wealth of experience, carapace armour and spare clips for their bolters, Jonas didn't like their odds against those, _things_.

Jonas, in his years of service, had seen a lot of things. One unfortunate mission was following Lady Lognus into a crippled astartes warship, what they were looking for evaded his memory, but distinctly Jonas remembered the retreat, their prize in hand and a ravenous horde of gaunts and their monstrous Warrior leaders. But most striking in that chilling memory, was the sight of Sergeant Moranez, an Imperial Fist Space Marine, proud to be reclaiming one of his Chapter mighty strike cruisers, lead his squad into the fray, only to find the waiting claws of the very beasts that stalked these halls. They fought like men possessed, walking avatars of the Emperors will, they slaughtered the xeno by the dozen but they ultimately fell. Foolish as their action was, foolhardy and against all doctrine when fighting the Tyranids if you asked the Inquisitor, the image of the ten Space Marines being, one by one, brought down was the sort of thing that stuck with a man.

"Get working Detective." Jonas sub-vocalised to Felicia as she pulled up next to him. "I don't want to wait around here – even if it is for you." Jonas smirked ever so lightly to her before the hard face returned.

Felicia looked snidely at the Interrogator. "I was hoping to set up a small getaway, a summer home perhaps." She made an act of looking around the processing area. "A few scatter cushions, a space heater, just like home." Felicia raised an eyebrow as she looked to Jonas. Felicia turned her head to see the others. "Arbitrators, sweep and check."

"Ma'am." Ashe and Kasov replied as they peeled away, immediately moving to as they were told. Sweep and check was a fairly basic order from a Detective, move within the area, check for signs of weapons fire, bodies, illegal substances and practically anything else that determined the cause of what happened at the crime scene.

"Adept Charon." Felicia turned her attention to the Tech-Priest as he loitered at the back, his attention taken up by the mechanism that dominated the ceiling, an old Mechanicus cart-crane, so the miners could switch the cart's tracks and send it up to the surface through the now blocked main passageway. The silvery face turned to look at Felicia after a moment. "Adept." Felicia smiled "If you could scan for any anomalous signals and collate data, I'd be very thankful."

"As the Omnissiah wills." Charon hissed as he went to his task in his own way, Felicia content to allow him follow his own course.

The Sergeant looked at Felicia who returned the look. "Felicia." Jonas whispered.

"What." She returned, her eyebrow raised.

"Why is this a crime scene and not a battlefield?"

"What." Felicia returned, unsure if Jonas had just asked the question. "I'm not sure what you mean, and now really isn't the time."

Jonas shrugged. "It's just that it was the Imperial Guard lost men here, and they are technically fighting the gangs at the moment, so wouldn't make this a Guard combat zone."

Felicia sighed and half-nodded, "Perhaps, but foremost the Imperial Guard do not have the current authority from the governor to enforce full martial law – one of the few things he hasn't done to piss us off – so this place falls under Arbite jurisdiction to investigate all mutant activity until such time when martial law is declared, then the Guard are more than welcome to investigate." She whispered quickly. "Long and short of it is, if it were just a gang? Guard would handle it, but since." She looked around to see if Ashe and Kasov were near, they were not. "But since mutants are the official cover story, Arbites handle it."

"Great system huh?" Jonas smirked. "Being an Inquisitor makes everything so simple."

"You're not an Inquisitor yet, _Interrogator. _But since when you did interrogate someone? "

"I could show you how I interrogate someone." Jonas grinned. "I think you'll find I don't get many complaints."

To his surprise Felicia held back a laugh. "Maybe, when I'm not about to have my ass bitten off by a ravaging xeno super-killing-machine."

Four responses sprang to Jonas' head, a couple lurid ones, but instead he smiled as Felicia turned away.

"Strike out again lover boy." Rally chuckled quietly as Felicia cut across the debris laden floor toward Arbitrator Ashe.

"Shut up... all of you." Jonas said without moving his head from its post watching Felicia. "And Rally."

"Yeah?"

Jonas turned his head to look at the visor of the Catachan Ranger. "Watch your frakking sector."

"Yes Sergeant."

... ... ...

"Cause of death, frag grenade." Ashe said into herself more than the Detective, who was picking through a tattered corpse of some robed guy who looked gashed open, probably by a piece of shrapnel. Ashe shrugged. "Death was probably instantaneous."

"You think?" Rally commented as he stood guard nearby, his weapon trained on one of the smaller side entrances. "Looks like he was stood on top of the thing."

Ashe shrugged nonchalantly. For the last twenty minutes she'd picked through two bodies, both of these strange mutant cultist guys, and aside from one case of sickly skin, and the worst case of dry skin Karen had ever seen, there didn't seem much to these mutations from what she saw. She stood from her crouched position over the corpse. She sighed as she glanced at the Chastener. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at the black armoured man. She stepped over the devastated corpse to draw up near to Rally.

"What?" Rally asked as his eyes flicked between the darkness to the Arbitrator in a split-second and then back again.

Karen Ashe looked the back of the Chastener's head for a moment. Rally, aware of the Arbitrator behind him remained silent as he swept his weapon back and forth, his Catachan honed senses were being utilised to the max, his eyes darted around in the darkness, desperately trying to pick up the slightest movement. His ears perked up at each tiny sound, the scrape of a boot, the murmur of an Arbite, the low-level hum that flowed from the Tech-Priest as he paraded around, his staff rapping against the grilled floor as he hissed a stream of litany. His nostrils flared as he drew in lungful after lungful of hot, dusty, coppery air. His sense of touch was unfortunately cut somewhat by the black marksman gauntlets, heavy on the out facing side, soft on the inward facing side, perfect for holding a rifle, or even a pistol. He stayed still, moving only the barrel of his weapon for left to right, and from right to left. He could see Ashe's breastplate luminator lance out over his shoulder, giving her position away instantly. "You'd be useless stalking somebody." Rally mentioned quietly over his shoulder. "What?" he added.

"Nothing." Karen shook her head softly. "Just looking."

"Looking at what? I'll tell you if you need to look at anything." Rally returned quietly. He gestured with his head. "Like that body, go look at that."

Karen followed the gesture, a body lain up against the side of a toppled mine cart. She tilted her head as she looked over the robed corpse. "Well." She started. "He has no head. I'm guessing he's dead, gunshot probably."

"Las bolt, short range." Rally detailed after a brief look. "Robed probably tried to rush with that nasty blade of his." Ashe looked down the corpse, from under one of his robes was a small, livid white blade, but even at this distance, Ashe could tell it was sharp.

She furred her brow. "Why paint a blade white?" She mused aloud as she trod over toward it.

"To better see the blood? I don't know." Rally commented with a grunt.

Karen kneeled in front of the corpse. Slowly she took stock of the body as per her training. Of course the head was destroyed, cut almost in two by the las bolt, but the rest of the body seemed intact. Covered in a heavy purple cloak that covered the lion share of his body down to his feet, but partway down the robe was spread revealing what looked to be a pale bone coloured, segmented chest plate. "Body armour." She mused allowed. It didn't look like basic flak armour, or even a flak vest, the plates didn't look regular in their pattern, it looked like a custom build to fit the cultist perfectly. "Must have been expensive." As Karen continued to look down the corpse, the trousers were similar colour to the robe, and ending in a pair of heavy combat boots. Ashe slowly moved as she examined the clothing. "No labels, possibly PDF Surplus."

"Could be a source of their weapons too." Rally murmured from afar.

Karen sighed as she looked over her shoulder. "There seems to be a lot of that happening these days." She turned back to the strange blade. "But I doubt that's standard issue."

The Arbitrator leaned closer, pulling her shotgun off its position slung over her shoulder and placing it on the ground beside her gently. Slowly she pressed her finger against the flat of the blade, tilting it slightly as her eyes flicked across its surface.

Carefully the Arbitrator pulled on the heavy cloth, pulling it back up the arm.

"Holy Emperor." Karen hissed as she looked down.

Felicia turned her head as the exclamation, as did Rally and Jonas. Wolfgang looked over her shoulder. Makin turned his head but kept his eyes locked on the two passage ways he was watching.

Karen pulled back to reveal what she had seen, cloak still in hand.

There was no hand holding the blade, a smaller blade ran parallel to the larger one, like a little finger. The arm was tight, hyper-tense, each inch of flesh was segmented carapace, each millimetre a sickly white, the underlying fleshy, soft parts a horrifying purple. The mutation didn't stop there. It ran the length of the arm up to the shoulder, which looked as if the surrounding bone was about to burst out, showing how much of a grip the bone had around the joint. Through the tight skin the group could see the deep blue veins as the ran in, over and around every inch of the horrid appendage. The mutation didn't stop at the shoulder, it continued as Karen pulled the blanket back. Over the collar bone, up the neck, over the chest. The cultist wasn't wearing body armour. The carapace covered the entire upper torso of the corpse. Tendrils of bone coloured flesh reached down the torso but Karen didn't want to look, didn't need to look to guess that the infection spread over his entire body. "Sweet Emperor." Karen gasped.

"I think we found our mutants." Rally breathed as he looked on in horror.

"Well... crud." Jonas breathed as he stood over the corpse of the mutant, Felicia at his side and Arbitrator Ashe beside Rally for a moment. Jonas' boltgun hung by its sling with his gauntlet holding to the foregrip of the weapon, his left arm was crooked as he rested his hand against his hip.

Felicia was knelt down as she examined the, _thing_in front of her. She pressed the hard flesh with her gloved fingers, feeling the rough textures mixed with the smooth plates of carapace. "Anything to mention?" She whispered back to Jonas, who in return knelt down beside her.

For a moment the Interrogator said nothing, he just stared at the corpse as he contemplated what it was, he tilted his head as a hundred thoughts ran through his mind. Slowly he lifted the thing's arm, turning it while he idly grinded his teeth.

Felicia watched his action closely, her sniffin sense absorbing the subtle emotions that trickled from the Inquisitorial apprentice like the stream. With him this close to her, no more than a foot away, the feeling was far more intense than at any other distance. She could feel the twists and turns that he went though as his still veiled thoughts made connections, joined the dots so to speak, and those ideas linked with other ideas. Felicia looked over her shoulder as she watched Jonas work, his eyes darting back and forth as he compared memories hidden from her. She watched his eyes for a while, his irises were wide, wild in comparison with the rest of his body, betraying his emotion, though she could feel the jolts of fear quite acutely this close to him. She watched him for a while before he caught on and looked at her. For a moment neither one said a thing before Felicia cautiously nodded toward the corpse, tearing her eyes away from him to look at something less pleasing to look at for any amount of time. "Anything?" She said quietly hoping that the spark of raw, warm emotion that just shot out of him, completely opposite to everything before, was just a misreading.

Jonas coughed lightly as he turned back to the corpse. "Well," he started in a hushed tone, after a brief look around, the two Arbitrators were far enough away for his liking, one was stood with Rally, their lips moving quickly, and the other was going about searching the other corpses with gusto.

"Well, good chances are this is isn't your garden variety mutant, this is a Genestealer Hybrid." Jonas continued.

Felicia tilted her head slightly. "It looks like the one we've got up in cold storage."

Jonas nodded. "This is a more advanced version, so to speak." Slowly he tugged the corpse to the side. "Ahh." He said as the corpse showed its back to the two. "Clever bastards." He whispered to himself. Felicia shot him a confused look, the back of the Hybrid was a mess of scar tissue but was otherwise like the same hard carapace that covered his chest. "Look." Jonas said as he rubbed a finger over the ridges of the hybrid's shoulder blades. "They amputated his extra arms."

"What?" Felicia hissed.

Jonas looked back at her. "This is a late, third, maybe fourth generation hybrid, from a distance near indistinguishable from pure humans, save for the extra arms and claw hand, but take those two arms away, wrap the hand in protective cloth? Perfect infiltrator." He turned back to the hybrid. "Designed and purposed by the Patriarch to seek out more mates and bring them back to the family."

Felicia looked to the interrogator questioningly. "What in the Emperor's name is a Patriarch?"

Jonas held his tongue for a moment as he looked at her. Slowly he sighed. "A Patriarch is often referred to as a multitude of things, it is the head of this little family of hybrids, but other organisations call them different things, Broodlord is the most common if there are other pure-strain Genestealers under its 'command'." Felicia nodded as she digested this information. "They must be further into the former mine." Jonas mused aloud as he looked down the gaping maw of the mine entrance.

"We will investigate." Felicia nodded as she stood.

Jonas followed her up quickly. "What! Lady Lognus ordered us to go as far as the Arbites had." He hissed.

Felicia shot the Interrogator a hard look, holding his eyes with hers. "If we followed those orders, than we would be still outside." She glanced toward the mine entrance. "We must ascertain just how severe this, infestation has become." She murmured as she pulled away.

"I got another one!" Kasov half-yelled toward the Detective as he rounded around a toppled mine cart to find another hybrid cut to shreds by las-fire. "Same as that one." The Arbitrator nodded to the corpse by Jonas' feet. "But this one's female."

Felicia turned to look as Kasov as he dragged the corpse into plain view. Indeed, the woman was covered neck down in the same white augmented carapace, covering her breasts and stomach in hideous looking, smooth white armour-like plates, plates that had clearly seen the business end of a lasgun a bit too closely as the white plates were stained a deep, dark red. Indeed, like the first hybrid, this one too had a claw, on its third arm; the third appendage flopped out from the hybrid's back as Kasov dragged her out. It was thin, tight, just like the hybrid in cold storage.

Felicia turned to face Jonas, who looked at her plainly, clearly hiding any response from the prying eyes of the others. "Sergeant Kollad." Felicia said as she turned back to the new hybrid.

"Ma'am." He returned crisply.

Felicia turned her head toward the mine entrance. "We're going further into the mine."

"Ma'am." Jonas sounded less than enthusiastic.

... ... ...

"Talk about going into the long grass" Rally murmured to himself as he felt the slight tap on his shoulder, indicating he should advance down into the gaping maw.

Markin grumbled something akin to the sentiment as he took up position behind the point man. His own weapon levelled beside Rally, his luminator beam out done by Rally's own. Carefully the group pressed forward, Rally carefully pressing forward, his feet finding steady footing without the Catachan Ranger actively thinking about it.

The tunnel was unlit at the top, but Rally could see the glaring, hard yellow glow-lamps further down. He could see the lances of lights dance over his shoulders, illuminating the rock walls with plasteel bracing every few dozen feet, holding up the millions of tonnes of rock and hive that towered above them.

"Hot as hell in here." Kasov grumbled as he moved a couple of steps behind the point man.

"Yeah man but it's a dry heat." Markin grinned in return.

"Shut up." Jonas growled harshly from his position beside the Detective. Felicia hummed as she took another breath of hot air; it was getting hotter and heavier the further down the steady slope they went.

The Detective glanced over her shoulder; again Andrea was pulling up the rear, her weapon sweeping back and forth, her own head darting over her shoulder to keep pace with the group. Ashe was beside the Detective as ordered by Felicia, her own weapon hanging in her hands, ready and cocked. Felicia glanced to the young red-head; Ashe looked as she always did, in her years she'd seen plenty of mutants, and after the momentary shock had reverted to her well-disciplined demeanour, befitting an up and coming Adeptus Arbite Arbitrator. That said Felicia could still pick up minor disturbances from the young woman as they pressed on. Felicia said nothing, still thankful that none of her fellow Arbite knew the truth of the situation, but they would soon unfortunately, Felicia couldn't leave this here, she needed to see just how bad the situation was before the Inquisition came in and covered it all up.

Felicia glanced to Ashe again, the woman wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination, she'd pieced together already that the charred corpse up in the medical tent was of xeno origin, she just hadn't realised it, or more correctly didn't have enough evidence to confirm her wildest theory, at the moment everything could be explained as just advanced mutation, which was probably what Ashe had thought of the corpse she discovered.

No, Ashe wasn't perturbed about the mutant, she had moved on so to speak, back to active patrol in a way, filing the memory away for reporting later, a report either Felicia or the Inquisitor would intercept before it went to anywhere.

Same for Kasov, his years on the Precinct's most bloody underhive patrol route has inured him to scenes like that, violence unmasked, he'd seen some of the worst sides of humanity, and arrested them accordingly. The man was well on his way to being inducted to the Chasteners, and so was watching the surrounding group with intense fascination, despite the facade of which he was blissfully unaware.

Felicia liked Kasov, though he wouldn't replace her as a Detective like perhaps Karen Ashe, he was easily one of the most efficient combat Arbitrators Felicia has seen in a long time. Despite his lippy nature, Felicia could see by the way he carried his shotgun that he was on a hair trigger, while his face grinned, his eyes were like a cyber-eagle's, darting from wall to wall, examining everything, not for clues like Ashe, but for targets.

Felicia smiled to herself as she looked forward again. Her luminator beam reflecting off the back plate of Markin as he pressed forward after the Catachan Ranger, who seemed to be completely at peace, both physically and mentally. The Ranger was surefooted as he descended deeper and deeper into the old mineshaft.

From behind the Detective, she could still hear the low, grinding hiss of the Tech-Priest, she resisted the urge to glare at the red-robed Adept. The glow of the forearm cogitator lit up his metallic face, highlighting the hard edges and ruts in his mask. Felicia sighed as she heard the Tech-Priest murmur on.

Felicia watched the pool of light as Rally pushed into it, his weapon pulled to his shoulder. But as quickly as he entered, he left, returning once again to darkness. Markin and Kasov followed diligently, the hard yellow light lighting the silvery marks on the armour, scars of battle. Like the Ranger, the two pressed forward back into the shadows.

Felicia stopped, and like the rest of the group, doused her luminators, as Rally raised a balled fist as he approached a dimly lit junction, the group having pressed through the wide tunnel for easily a hundred metres, passing between light and shadow with little incident. Carefully she watched the bodyguard press forward slowly. Rally pressed himself against one side of the rough hewn junction. Carefully the Bodyguard leant slowly out of the Y-shaped crossroads. Quickly the Ranger swept his powerful firearm between the two off-shots. Slowly but surely the Ranger returned back to the relative safety of the dimly-lit tunnel. He didn't turn back to the group, his eyes still hovering between the similarly lit divergent passageways, instead he made of hand signal Felicia didn't recognise, but apparently the Inquisitorial Bodyguards did as Markin darted forward and the others visibly tensed up. Markin stopped behind Rally, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. Swiftly the Ranger flicked his head and Markin reacted be barrelling to the other side of the tunnel, his own bolter up, his gloved hands gripping the foregrip and trigger grip tightly as he leant forward around the corner.

As the two bodyguards watched the darkness, Felicia looked to Jonas, who had his weapon at the ready. Felicia turned to see the others in a similar state of readiness. Felicia watched as Jonas looked to her, before quickly looking back forward as she caught his eye. Felicia smiled lightly for a moment as she drew her sidearms. She felt reassured in the darkness, surrounded by deadly xenos, but reassured none the less by the familiar weight of her bolt pistols. Loosely she let them hang in her grip, flexing her gloved fingers about the hard bindings of the handles, her finger fitting into the custom made grooves in the bindings perfectly. Felicia looked to Jonas, the sergeant returned the look, he shrugged lightly, Felicia nodded and she looked over her shoulder, careful of her voice, "Tech-Priest" she hissed, drawing the red-robed bodyguard's attention. He transfixed her with a hard gaze, the only one he physically capable of giving. "Which way?" she questioned, her own eyes not leaving his 'eyes'. Immediately the adept turned his gaze to the glowing console built into his forearm.

Silently the Tech-Priest stepped forward to Felicia and Jonas' shoulders. The two turned to form a rough triangle with Charon, as they did a set of mechadendrites snaked up from under his robe and up around his glowing forearm. The console brightened considerably, and from it raised a green nimbus of light. The spark of jade light expanded, turning from light into a intricate web of green lines and dull blue dots.

"A hololithe?" Felicia smiled meekly as she looked toward the Tech-Priest.

Charon nodded slowly. "We are here" A mechadendrite pressed forward, indicating the group of blue dots. "According to Imperial records dating back to when these mines where in service, the left path would take us lower, to the lower hab chamber."

Jonas sent a raised eyebrow toward the Tech-Priest. "Hab chamber?"

"The miners used to live down here during the working months." Felicia informed the Interrogator quickly. "They also double as shelter during a cave-in." Felicia looked back to the Tech-Priest. "When were these maps last updated?"

Jonas turned to look at the Detective with raised eyebrows. "How on Terra do you know that?"

"Hive Cunir had a cave-in two months ago, all over the news." Felicia returned quickly before repeating her question to the Tech-Priest.

The mechadendrites buzzed and the Tech-Priest hissed some litany the two didn't quite catch. After a moment Charon looked directly toward the Detective. "These mines ceased operation on year seven-six-five of the forty-first millennium, last record updates were shortly before. It can be assumed that until that time, this map is accurate."

"So that's what? Only a hundred and seventy years for someone, or something to blow and or eat new passages like the Imperial Guard reported." Jonas replied snidely. "What?" He said as Felicia shot him a glare.

"If the left takes us to the lower hab chamber, what about the right path?" Felicia pushed on.

In response one of the mechadendrites twisted and the hololithe zoomed out, showing a larger image of the mining tunnels, the complex weaving of halls and passageways that stretched miles beneath the hive itself. The dots became pinholes as the map expanded, the green lines becoming paper thin as the structure, the hidden passages revealed themselves to the Arbite and the Interrogator. "A platoon of Guard to hold this was a mistake." Jonas breathed as he looked at the hololithe in miniature. "You'd need a Company, no, a Battalion."

"At least." Felicia agreed quietly.

Jonas shot a finger forward, just off where the blue pinholes were. "This is the right pathway." He stated. He traced it with his finger around the hololithe. "It stays rather level with this place." After a moment his finger crossed a large alcove. "What's that Charon?"

Again the mechadendrites twitched and buzzed. "Logs indicate it is a ventilation shaft, from it branches the ventilation ducts that run throughout the mine." And to illustrate the point, a new layer of orange lines appeared, spreading from the ventilation shaft, encircling everything on the hololithe both up and down.

"Is that how their moving?" Felicia questioned out loud though only to the two others around her.

Jonas nodded slowly. "Maybe, Charon, how big are those vents?"

"The ducts or the shaft?" The Tech-Priest replied immediately, as if expecting the question and it's misuse of the term, to which Jonas shot the Tech-Priest a dirty glare. "The shaft would fit an Astartes easily if that's what you're asking. As for the ducts themselves," he stopped, his head tilting and the mechadendrites buzzed again. "Most people save children wouldn't be able to move with any speed, they'd be too big."

"A Genestealer is roughly human sized, isn't it?" Felicia said aloud to which both the Tech-Priest and the Interrogator nodded.

"But." Jonas looked to Felicia. "They are far more flexible than any human I've encountered save a few gymnasts of course." He looked back to the hololithe. "They could shimmy through those vents I suppose."

Charon nodded again, agreeing.

Jonas looked up with an ashen face to the two. "That means however they can move freely around us, and with that shaft, they could get up, into the Hive itself."

Felicia's eyes widened. "There's no way we could cover all those entrances!" She hissed before turning back to the Tech-Priest. "How many shafts are there?" she asked her tone sharp and fast.

Charon shook his head. "Some route into the Hive's air circulation systems directly. They'd become impossible to trace if they got into those sections"

"And unless you want to suffocate the whole hive, we can't close those systems." Jonas sighed as he brought his gloved hand up his forehead. "Sweet Emperor."

"Sweet Emperor." Felicia echoed, her face pale and voice drained.

"Can we seal that shaft?" Felicia asked the Tech-Priest as she glanced quickly down from the hololithe to the two branching paths, her voice hopeful, as if her now-waking nightmare of foul xenos and their thralls swarming across the Hive City, butchering and enslaving everything in their path, as if she could avert it.

"Perhaps." The Tech-Priest tilted his head. "But the effects would be minimal at best."

Jonas looked to the Detective, somewhat sympathetically, as if he could imagine what Felicia was feeling, but his thoughts gave him away as they leaked across to Felicia, who shot him a hard glare. "Closing the shaft will not slow them." He shook his head. "We'd need to shut down the whole system to disrupt their operations." He sighed. "And then we suffocate at least, the whole underhive."

Felicia sighed heavily as she rubbed her head, "Some days that wouldn't be bad idea." She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the blindness calm her as she stabled herself, and with every breath wishing the waking nightmare away which continued to persist despite her uttered prayers. Felicia shook her head and opened her eyes. "Ok." She breathed _sotto voce_. She nodded, more to herself as she looked to the hololithe. "We push deeper, we go down, to the hab chamber, see what we can find."

"Couldn't said it better myself." Jonas whispered near-silently toward the Tech-Priest who returned with a slight flare of his optics 'focusing rings'. "Say the word ma'am." The Interrogator said, louder this time so the others could hear her. "You lead, we follow."

"You find, we kill." Rally whispered over the team-vox, the one reserved for the bodyguards. Markin chuckled and Andreas mumbled something in return but the sudden clatter of footsteps shadowed over her words. Rally glanced over his shoulder to see Dara – another of the bodyguard team, leading the Sergeant, the Detective and Tech-Priest as they pressed on, the other two Arbites and bodyguards following in their wake.

"Leftways." Sergeant Kollad hissed through the vox curtly as he swung his bolter up and sparked his luminator into life as he near-threw himself around the corner. Markin responded by darting forward, his own weapon raised and ready. The two blazed a trail forwards, moving at speed, the knowledge of the 'stealers in the ducts fresh in the Sergeant's head, as such he pressed the team onwards.

Rally drew close to the Sergeant as he chased up after him and the Detective who he noticed was now packing two fistfuls of bolt throwing pain, his powerful luminator for now gave him a pretty good view of the back of the young redhead Arbite's armour – he didn't complain too loudly. But as they jogged forward he noticed something, it was starting to stink pretty badly.

"Hold up." Markin knelt with a raised fist. As one the column stopped, and joined Markin in kneeling, weapons up and prepared. Markin signalled to Rally, who darted up accordingly, weaving between the Arbites and bodyguards with ease. His feet were near silent on the hard floor as he stepped forward, weapon lowered but ready. He slowed as came up on Markin. As Rally peered down the dimly lit corridor in the rock, he knelt slowly besides Markin. "You smell that?" Markin hissed.

Rally shot Markin a hard glare. _You stopped us for your nose?_His eyes growled to fellow bodyguard. Markin returned with a shrug. "Remember that time on Riesig?"

Rally nodded. "The Forge World? Yeah? Why?" He asked quickly, knowing that the eyes of the Interrogator were on him and Markin.

Markin flicked a glance over his shoulder before returning to Rally. "This crud smells like that drokking cult den?"

Rally sniffed, his nose drawing in the scents of a thousand things, most notably plasteel form the girders that held the corridor up, next came the ore dust that was sprinkled on everything. The Catachan could taste the promethium on the air, thick and heavy, a by-product of someone pulsing a flamethrower, Rally furred his brow, according to the reports and the obvious battle damage to the walls, the Guard had only used their flamer further back up the MSR to the surface, not all the way down here, even with a through-draft it wouldn't reach here. "The Promethium?" he asked with a cocked head.

"No, no you thick brained meat-head." The clean-shaven Cadian hissed back irritated. "The incense."

Rally looked back down the hall, his nostrils flaring as he did, drawing in more of that heavy promethium smell, but underneath it, faintly, Rally could smell something else. He closed his eyes to concentrate, trying to recapture some of that lost sharpness he gained in the death jungles of his homeworld, hunting the dreaded Catachan Devils, feeling his brothers and sisters around him, all waiting for him. His powerful nose drew in tainted air into his lungs, all the while trying to sort out the constituent odours. Incense, now he knew of its existence, he could feel it, something underneath the overwhelming promethium. _There_, he thought as he picked up the scent, lingering, masked, and faint but there. Rally glanced to Markin who just raised his brows at the Catachan. "Live in and around enough chapels, and you never miss that smell." The Cadian smiled.

"What they worshipping down here?" Kasov broke the silence after a moment, causing the two point men to turn to face the Arbite who was a few steps behind the two. "Smells like a chapel down here."

"Am I the only guy who smells the promethium out of place here?" Rally looked around the group.

"No, I smell it too." Jonas said through clenched teeth. Curtly he waved the Catachan forward with Markin while immediately signing to Andreas, and Dara to hold position in Arbites battle-sign. Felicia noted the signing with an eyebrow raise to Jonas; he'd been doing his required reading.

It seemed the bodyguards had as well as Markin and Rally pulled away to scout ahead of the main team. They moved quickly and quietly, sticking close to the walls as they advanced while in the mean time the others hunkered down, their backs to the rough hewn walls. Andreas braced her back and left shoulder up against of the great plasteel girders, allowing her a degree of cover while she rested her boltgun on her raised knee.

The corridor twisted and turned further on, as well as narrowing slightly, though that hardly slowed the Ranger and the Cadian as they moved with a slight crouch. The two leap frogged each other down the rock halls. As they pressed on the smell increased, the acrid stench of incense and promethium mixing in their nostrils as they closed on the hab chamber.

It was only now that Rally and Markin were actively looking for battle damage to the walls, ceiling and floor. Plenty of micro-explosive damage, but however the corridor they moved in was once part of one of the main seams of ore that snaked through the mountain, so whether the craters were from mining charges or bolter fire was up in the air, but the black scorch marks that decorated parts of the ceiling and walls were noted immediately, seems someone had come through with a flamer recently. Rally kept a sharp eye on the vents that protruded through the rock after a hissed warning from the Interrogator. Rally had signed the information to his partner and the two kept a constant vigil. Among the battle damage Rally and Markin observed was the silvery marks that cut thin grooves in the rockwork, claws Markin had postulated as they passed the set that bisected a plasteel pillar.

The two pushed on for a couple minutes without a word being passed between the two. They slowed as they caught the first beams of white light spilling across the rockrete floor from around the next bend. Immediately the two doused their luminators and moved at a creep toward the light, their breathing slow to try to silence their approach.

Slowly and quietly Markin touched the vox-rune on the side of his helmet. As he watched Rally approach he spoke in hushed tones and hoped that the rocks would not disrupt the message that badly. "Delta-Three-Three, Delta-Three-Three Alpha Mike, Hab chamber in sight, move or stop?"

The vox hissed for a moment with nothing but static. Rally shot Markin a quick, inquisitive glance to which Markin indicated his vox and Rally nodded.

The vox crackled sharply in Markin's ear. The voice of the Interrogator was cracked and distorted but understandable. "Delta-Three-Three Alpha Mike, Delta-Three-Three, affirmative on Hab chamber, clear to regroup?"

"Copy that, regroup, clear all the way, move or stop?" Markin returned a beat later.

Another moment passed before the vox crackled back, this time much clearer. "This better?"

"Affirmative Delta-Three-Three, reading loud and clear. Should we move on the Hab chamber or stop?" Markin returned quietly.

"Roger Alpha Mike, move, how copy?"

"Solid Copy, moving now." Markin signed immediately to Rally who nodded in return as Markin clicked the vox off and rose from his position beside a plasteel girder.

Rally shimmied up the wall toward the light slowly, his finger lightly resting on the trigger of his bolter; Markin was a step behind him, resting a hand on Rally's shoulder while the Catachan locked his eyes on the corner. His weapon hung by a sling while his left hand felt the wall beside him, outstretched ahead of him, feeling for any dips or alcoves not quickly visible to a casual glance. The two drew to a halt beside the light source. Rally looked over his shoulder to the Cadian, who nodded in return. Rally took his guiding hand of the rock and onto his boltgun's foregrip. As he felt the reassuring grip of plastic in his palm, it helped the Ranger steady his nerves as he inched to the edge of the portal in the rock.

Donavon felt the palm of Markin on his shoulder, another thankful left-over from their time in the ranks of the Imperial Guard, tactical training along with a dozen other lingering things that years of being off the constant war fronts of the Imperium had yet to take away, things years of being in the employ of a rather varied career of an Inquisitor's bodyguard had yet to overwrite or replace.

Rally lowered himself to a half-crouch and brought the muzzle of the bolter to the edge of the light stream, the very end of the gun glinting slightly in the white day-luminators. The Catachan sighed as he glanced to the Cadian, the two shared a quick nod and Markin lightly patted his shoulder. As Rally looked forward, Markin let his bolter hang by its sling and reached to his webbing, unhooking a simple black and silver cylinder marked 'PF' on the side. Markin, lifted the cylinder to his belt, looping the small metal ring over a hook that protruded from the belt, and with a hard tug pulled the ring clearly off while keeping a firm grip on the plastic spoon that kept the Photon-Flash grenade from going off in Markin's hand.

Markin tapped his index finger against the hard armour of the point man and together they began to count. Markin could see the Catachan tense visibly as the three seconds passed like eons.

The Cadian breathed deep, filling his lungs full of the dusty, hot, promethium and incense laden air. On his exhale, he breathed "three". As Rally lowered himself a little more, Markin stepped out a little as he swung his right arm around, the grenade in hand, releasing his grip as it closed toward the light, sending the cylinder hurtling into the Hab chamber. The black and silver cylinder disappeared into the enveloping light, almost swallowed by the white light. As the cylinder left Markin's hand he drove himself back into the rock and gripped the handle of his own bolter, bringing it ready near his shoulder.

If the first three seconds lasted eons, then the other three lasted an instant.

With a burning bloom of blinding illumination and a crack of high-pitched, deafening crash, Markin and Rally pushed forward, helmet visors down and mouth guards-come-respirators clamped around their noses and mouths. Rally swept in low and tight around the corner while Markin swept wide and loose into the Hab chamber. They thundered forward with a clatter of boots and sweeping of weapons, the laser-aiming modules attached to the side of the bolters danced strange patterns across the innards of the chamber while the two Imperial Guard Veterans–come Inquisitorial Bodyguards-come pseudo Arbite Chasteners cleared the room fast.

"Clear left!" Rally half-yelled over to his partner.

Markin lowered his bolter slightly as he glanced over his shoulder. "Clear right." He responded before tapping his vox-rune and passing the report to Jonas.

The Hab chamber was in a sense a barracks, mess hall and sitting room all rolled into one. Two dozen triple bunks were all stacked neatly over to one side of the hall. The top covers of the bunks were bare, stripped to their mattresses and little else. The tables for eating were covered in plates and mugs, some crusty with old grime and dirty eating utensils. A few were tossed aside, splattering the ground in a rather horrid colour. Across from the main entrance was a second hole in the rock, but unlike the door the two were pressing through, it was covered in a plasteel pressure door. The pressure door on the entrance however seemed missing, like it was torn from the rock.

Markin trudged over to one of the tables and looked over the contents with mild disgust and unease. He idly picked through the plates and utensils with a gloved finger while keeping an eye on the surroundings.

"Still warm." Rally pulled Markin's attention away from the dirtied cutlery to what looked to a stove hidden in a small alcove in the rock walls. "Well, lukewarm." The Catachan clarified as he withdrew a finger from a silver coloured steel pot on one of the stove rings. Rally cast a glance over to Markin. "I've seen more appetising gruels." He said as he shook the white-watery liquid from his gloved finger.

Markin nodded. "Yeah," he gestured to the table in front of him, "some of this looks recent."

The two roamed around for a minute, checking the various alcoves and hidden sectors of the Hab chamber. They poked and prodded for a few minutes. The signs of battle were evident, black marks stained some parts of the walls and a few of the bunks and chairs were flipped messily. After a moment the two started to find casings littering the floor, all roughly twenty-millimetre shell casings with a few discarded sickle clips tossed here and there, after that, seeing the bullet holes in the rock became obvious. There were weapon stitch marks up the entrance walls; Markin discovered splotches of blood here and there, drag marks and the like, nothing major until Rally whistled across to his teammate. Markin moved toward his teammate to where he was kneeling, near a knot of clutter where a few of the bunks had fallen, toppling the chairs and creating quite a mess. Markin drew up beside Rally to see what he was looking at.

A corpse, quite dead, judging by his lack of a stomach and generous claw wounds.

Markin leaned forward, slinging his bolter over his shoulder, and gripped one of toppled bunks that rested on top of the corpse and pulling away the metal frame and sending it skidding across the rockrete paving floor in a spray of sparks to reveal the extent the damage.

The corpse was big and bulky, heavily muscled with shaggy, blood matted hair and beard. The lifeless body was propped against the wall while the entrails decorated the wall and floor around him. In his grip thick grip to one side looked to be a flamer, man-portable, like a rifle unlike the larger cousin commonly utilised by the Imperial Guard. The corpse was clad in what looked to be flak armour, or at least it was until something had clawed it away and taken a large chunk of flesh and organs in the process, but what remained of the armour was painted deep crimson. Lying discarded a few feet away was a rough-hewn, jagged machete. It looked used, judging from the heavy staining on the bronze coloured blade.

"Cause of death? 'stealer?" Markin postulated only to receive a glare from the Catachan through his visor. "Ok, 'stealer."

Rally kneeled to get a better view of the corpse in red armour. "Well, it explains the promethium smell." He looked unwittingly into the dead brown eyes of the corpse. "Locals must not have taken a liking to him."

"Or his friends." Markin muttered as he glanced over his shoulder. This dragged Rally's attention away from the corpse. Markin gestured his head toward the casings and various damage that littered the Hab chamber. "Too much blood, too many spent cartridges." He looked back to Rally. "More than this poor bastard alone."

"Where's the bodies?" Rally mused as he turned around.

Markin looked over his shoulder. "Check the pressure door." He mused before turning back to the corpse.

Markin shifted the corpse a little, allowing a better view of the wounds and the equipment of the red-armoured, muscle-bound corpse. As he pushed the body onto its side, Markin got a full view of some of the claw marks. They were deep, horrid wounds, cutting deep into the meat and muscle and bone, cutting through finely, as if it was a hot knife through ackenberry preserve. Despite the finely made cut, it still looked nasty and somewhat disgusting by sheer cleanness of the cut.

Markin grimaced as he looked over the wound; he'd seen nicer looking chainsword wounds. As the Inquisitorial bodyguard shifted the body, the flak armour came apart, a quick glance showed that the flak armour had been cut by the Genestealer claws.

As Markin pushed the body over, he was given a rather gratuitous view of the muscle-bound back, and what the bearded, flamer wielding man had scarred into his back.

"Oh sweet." Markin sighed as he looked away while closing his eyes for a moment. "Rally." He called out.

"What." The Catachan returned as he trudged across the rather wrecked Hab chamber. As the Ranger rounded on the Cadian he caught sight of what Markin saw. "Geez." He breathed.

Markin nodded. "Yup."

Rally turned away while rubbing his forehead. "Drok." He sighed again. "Drokking crud." He looked over his shoulder. "What do you think?"

Markin stood, allowing the corpse to drop. "We don't have time for this." He looked to his teammate. "We stick to the job at hand, I'll inform the Interrogator when he gets here." He looked around the Hab chamber. "If they ever get here."

Rally grumbled something as he glanced around. "Come on. I need another pair of muscles." He gestured for Markin to follow.

"You mean you ain't got enough to muscle-bound freak." Markin shrugged as he stood to follow the Catachan. To which Rally sent a grinning glare over his shoulder to the slightly smaller Cadian.

Instead of moving toward the pressure door, the two instead stepped toward one of the great blocks of metal that lined the Hab chamber's walls. Many were the utilities for the Hab chamber and the surrounding areas, water, heating, air-recycler etcetera, basic stuff required to keep the work teams alive while they toiled deep just below the surface. As they approached the great plasteel blocks, Markin could see the symbols marking it out as a water-reclamation unit. As they closed the distance, Rally slung his bolter over his back and flexed his shoulders and biceps.

"What are we doing over here?" Markin asked. "You need to dry off, you sweaty, smelly bastard?" to which he received another half-glare.

Rally gestured to the floor with his chin. "Check it." To which Markin lowered his gaze, to be met with red strained rockrete paving. Markin turned his head to follow the red stain toward the heap of collapsed tables and spilt food.

"Blood?" Markin said to himself as he examined the trail, leading from the splotches and splatter, to the water-reclamation unit. But as he drew eyes across to the unit, he noticed something else. "Scratch marks?" he thought aloud as he looked at the wounds on the rockrete, thin white scrape marks marred the grey surface in a circular pattern, leading from the water-reclamation unit.

Rally flexed his fingers as he moved to the side of the block of plasteel. "Here, help me shift this still." As he took hold of what hand holds he could, Markin swept his weapon once again across the Hab chamber before slinging the bolter.

Rally huffed as he pulled against the still, trying to get the thing to slide easily away, only to get the slightest tremor. He grumbled as he tried again. He strained and swore as he braced his foot against the rock wall and his muscles bulged as his face reddened before letting go in a flurry of expletives.

After a moment of getting his strength back, Rally leapt at it again, this time Markin got a pair of handholds and pulled with the Ranger. Markin felt the strain course through his arms as he tried to shift the heavy piece of plasteel.

"Nugh." Rally breathed as he let go after a moment. "They must have gotten this piece of crud open somehow." He sighed. He looked up and down the still, "there must be a mechanism somewhere." He mused.

As Markin watched the Catachan immediately start padding down the flat grey water still, his ear buzzed, "Friendlies pulling up the rear." The Interrogator hissed across the vox. Markin turned his head toward the rectangle shaped hole to see another of the Bodyguard team sweep through the gap with their bolter raised. Markin held up a placating hand as the bodyguard pushed through with the Detective hot in his heels. Markin nodded to the Interrogator as he turned back to Rally, who was still examining the water-reclamation unit for some sort of hidden mechanism.

Markin turned his attention from the Catachan to the still itself, he glanced across its bland surface, clean, flat, and grey in and of itself, but the residents had clearly taken to placing scraps of parchment on its surface. A runepad was just above waist height with a small display beside it. Markin leaned slightly as he tried to read the small flickering letters as they scrolled across. After a moment he turned to face the rest of the group.

"Sergeant." Markin began, grabbing the attention of the Detective and the Interrogator. He gestured around the Hab chamber. "This area is clearly lived in."

The Interrogator glanced to the door way, then to the floor upon seeing the battle damage to see the spent casings. "Hostiles?" he questioned as he looked to the two.

Markin shook his head. "No Sergeant. Whatever happened here, we missed it." He pointed toward the red-armoured corpse as he trod across toward the Interrogator. "Early guess, this man was part of the group that attacked, judging by the flamer."

"Explains the stench of promethium." Felicia remarked as she graciously made her way to beside the corpse with the red headed Arbite in tow. She looked over the corpse carefully, experimentally prodding and probing the ripped and torn flesh.

Ashe knelt down as she looked over the bloodied flamethrower. "Third-full." She remarked as she read the dial, careful not to disturb the evidence by moving it.

"Group?" Jonas asked after a glance toward the corpse.

"Yes Sergeant." Markin nodded. "Judging from the weapons fire, detritus and blood trails."

Jonas looked to Markin with a raised eyebrow. "Blood trails."

Markin gestured toward the water-reclamation unit where Rally now stood joined with Kasov. The Sergeant moved across the battle zone with the Cadian beside him until they reached the red streaks left of the rockrete. Jonas knelt for a moment as he examined the blood with a finger; it was still relatively wet, recent. Jonas looked as Markin sent a quick apprehensive glance toward the two Arbite women. Jonas stood and motioned for Markin to speak. In a hushed tone Markin passed on what he had seen. "It bears the mark Interrogator." He whispered sotto voce. This caused Jonas to shoot a hard look toward the corpse. "Cause of death was probably a 'stealer."

"This is all we need." The Interrogator hissed as he shook his head and placed his hand on his armaplas covered forehead. He sighed as he glanced about the Hab chamber. "We carry on this pointless errand. We'll deal with, _that_after; I'll inform the Inquisitor when we return to somewhere a bit more hospitable." Jonas hissed to Markin, who nodded in return.

"Charon!" Rally called to the Tech-Priest. "Scan this damned thing. Find the mechanism to open this."

The staff of the Tech-Priest clunked as the Machine Adept closed on the Catachan Ranger, "A hidden passage?" He warbled.

"Yeah." The Ranger huffed over his shoulder. "Check the scratch marks on the ground, drag marks." He bit harshly toward Charon, his face red and breath heavy after another attempt to pull the water still to the side. "You have those all-seeing eyes, you should be more observant."

Charon muttered something under his breath as he turned to face the water still fully. He hummed for a moment before moving a step closer. His cloak ruffled slightly as his mechadendrites whirred and twisted as the Tech-Priest looked over the water-reclamation unit. His vox-speaker hissed and uttered a few short bursts of binary as he tilted his head.

Rally leaned on his knees for a second, sucking hot air as he tried to get some oxygen to his starting-to-ache muscles. After a moment he raised himself up and took hold of the still once again, breathed deep and braced himself for another go. He braced his boot sole against the rough rockrete wall, and sucked a last breath through his teeth as he applied pressure.

The Tech-Priest watched the Ranger with slight amusement as his mechadendrites snaked forth from his heavy set robes. Half a dozen metallic, finger thick self supporting ropes with tri-fingered manipulator endings darted forward toward the still. As one they spread out into a hexagonal pattern, each end spreading wide and a haze of green light danced out, illuminating the entire front face of the still. The Tech-Priest crackled and hissed discordant noise as the manipulator tips rotated and beam of spectral light highlighted each edge and plain of the large blocky mass of plasteel.

Slowly the Tech-Priest stepped forward as the mechadendrites clicked and whirred, a machine-coated hand emerged from underneath his robe a clearly bionic finger extending toward the still.

"Omnissiah, guide your servant true." He prayed as his finger pressed against the rune pad.

The water-reclamation unit hummed, for a moment, the pipes that funnelled out of the top of the still into a roof-mounted utility shuddered for a minute then stopped. Markin and Jonas turned their heads and the two Arbites stood from the corpse to watch with a dash of apprehension as they touched their weapons with a quick glance to Dara who was kneeling beside the entrance. Andreas glanced across from her position near the opposite pressure door, lifting her bolter slightly the noise reverberated around the rockrete room.

With a triumphant yelp, Rally fell backwards as suddenly the still shifted. As his armour smashed against the rockrete, Kasov darted forward, shotgun raised and thrust into the yard wide gap that appeared. Each of the others snatched up their weapons and tensed up as Rally rolled to his feet bringing own bolter up as he did.

The group held still and silent for a minute as Kasov drew back slowly. Jonas hissed to the Arbitrator as he withdrew. Kasov turned to Rally with a half-smirk before turning his head to the Interrogator. "Sergeant." He started. "passageway is clear."

Rally grinned as he slung his bolter, taking up his position again as Kasov and Markin flowed around him, weapons trained on the gap.

The rockrete was cut away in a similar fashion to the entrance of the Hab chamber itself, rectangular but it bore the definite markings of work done by hand, as did the passage behind it. Though most of the work was probably done by blasting charges, the hard light that illuminated the area beyond was definitely hand-fitted. A quick glance to the Tech-Priest by Felicia confirmed that this little tunnel was not on the maps.

"Tech-Priest?" Rally huffed as he slid the now far lighter still across the rockrete.

"Yes Chastener?" Charon chirped with a buzz of static as his mechadendrites helped the Catachan out a little.

Rally glanced over his shoulder before returning to his work. "What did you do?" He huffed then sucked in more musty air. "Ask the Omnissiah to vaporise ninety-percent of this thing's weight."

"No." The Tech-Priest answered calmly to which the Catachan Ranger turned his head. "All I did was relocate two-hundred and fifty litres of reclaimed water to the cooling unit in the ceiling."

"What?" The Ranger hissed.

Charon tilted his head slightly as he looked at the bulky soldier. "It was full with water. You are the lead scout, you should be more observant."

"Ok." Jonas nodded as Rally, or more accurately, Charon shifted the now empty water still with his mechadendrites with surprising ease as the rest of the team sat with weapons ready. The Interrogator glanced to the red armoured corpse, he felt a cold chill run up his spine, this feeling caused the Arbite Detective to turn her blue eyes toward Jonas.

"We push forward?" Andreas glanced over her shoulder to the Interrogator. Her hidden eyes met with the Jonas'. With her head she gestured to the team. "Or we stay?"

Jonas glanced to Felicia as she lowered her bolt pistols gradually. The Detective flicked her gaze to Jonas, she was serious about this and Jonas nodded. Jonas sighed as he nodded to Andrea, for some reason Jonas saw a lot of Inquisitor Mary Lognus in the Detective, curious to a fault. As one the bodyguards raised up and slowly began to move toward the hole in the wall. Rally whipped around the corner sharply, his bolter raised and luminator on full power, enough to dazzle someone if he caught someone in the face, then followed up with a seventy-five calibre bolt. After a moment pause he signalled silently to the two, _all clear_. Jonas nodded. He knew what was down that tunnel; he could guess what they would find. He had seen firsthand what they could do, the image of the Imperial Fists fighting the xeno horde flashed in his mind horrifically.

Jonas glanced to Felicia, who returned the same look. Jonas checked the bolt of his bolter, pulling it back to inspect the weapon. Slowly he slid the bolt back and watched as the other bodyguards prepared for entry into the side tunnel.

Felicia moved forward as the team awaited the order. Jonas caught her by the bicep with an armoured gauntlet. Quickly he pulled her close. "Felicia." He hissed in her ear. She turned to look at him while he released her. "I am not throwing the lives of my men away." Jonas made eye contact with the Detective. "Not now, not for a recon run." Felicia nodded. The Interrogator glanced to the two other Arbites, then turned back to Felicia. "They stay in the dark." He said, his tone showing that there was no room for negotiation on this matter. "They stay here. We go, we check then we leave. Understood Detective?" Jonas took on a hard tone he really didn't feel, but he had to get across to Felicia the situation at hand. Slowly the Detective nodded understandingly, undoubtedly picking up on the thoughts slipping from the Interrogator like a waterfall, feeling his fear at the memories of the Genestealers.

Karen and Kasov prepped their shotguns as they stepped forward. Jonas stopped them with a gesture. "Dara, Ashe, Kasov, hold the door." The Chastener Sergeant ordered.

"Yes Sergeant." Dara replied as he turned on the spot and trotted across the messy floor to his old overwatch position.

The other two Arbites looked at Jonas curiously, they complied with the orders, but still they held him in a strange glance for a moment.

"It's ok." Felicia looked to the two. "If I need a second pair of eyes down there, I'll give you a shout." She grinned as she pulled on her carapace helmet again, lowering the anti-glare visor and checking the built in rebreather. Karen half-grinned in returned as she turned, her weapon tracking slowly across the Hab chamber form her hip. Kasov shrugged nonchalantly joining Karen in the overwatch.

"Andreas, switch up, Markin, rearguard." Jonas hissed as he slid his own helmet visor down.

Andreas responded silently as she darted forward as Markin sat. The Cadian shifted only after receiving a double tap on the back of his armour. The Cadian disengaged professionally, sliding away to take up his position at the rear of the group while Rally waited to press forward at the order of his commander, the Interrogator.

Felicia checked her own weapons over as she prepared to move with the now slimmed bodyguard team. She breathed a heavy, incense and promethium laden breath as she stepped forward, the image of the beast ever vivid in her mind as she crouched slightly to follow Rally into the misshapen tunnel entrance.

"The Emperor Protects." Felicia uttered the old Imperial Guard adage as Jonas appeared at her shoulder, bolter hanging in his grip.

... ... ...

"But it doesn't hurt to double check." Soran responded as he peered out of one of the many hab block windows, down into the underhive and its slowly growing groups of civilians.

Third Platoon of the Third Company of the Tercian Five hundred and Ninth Regiment of the Imperial Guard was stationed high up in one of the many hab blocks that lined the Mostatia plaza, specifically one that sat squarely on the main route into the plaza, overlooking the great, nine-lane highway into the plaza – now gridlocked with civilian ground cars save for two outside lanes, which were gridlocked with Imperial Guard H&S supply trucks trying to filter through the checkpoints put up by sixth company all around the plaza.

"What?" Desolta looked up at the fellow guardsman from his position underneath the wide panoramic windows of the former penthouse suite second squad had managed to find themselves billeted in, of course the room was a wreak, the furniture had been stripped out and the great double bed replaced with smaller, less opulent ones. The penthouse which at one time would sleep two, three if they were lucky, had been converted to sleep a family or two and now found its services in use by two squads of the Imperial Guardsman of Third Platoon and whoever else found some space.

Bedrolls littered the floor, as did the bodies that slept in them. Approximately twenty-two soldiers or varying descriptions and ranks sat, stood, laid, squatted, pretty much everywhere. Many were near the windows to keep an eye out on the roads surrounding the plaza. This was enforced by the smashed out window to one side that now mounted the platoon's heavy stubber, thankfully reallocated from the regiment stores, along with the Guardsmen themselves with their own lasguns. Most of the rifles however remained resting against the walls opposite the window, along with the more bulky pieces of armour for some of the Guardsmen. Sergeant Mitchell however went fully armoured as he stood with his lasgun slung over his shoulder as he stood his post near the Second squad vox operator. Third squad shared the room with the ten other soldiers, their own 'heavy weapon' was a standard issue missile launcher, which like the some of the lasguns was stood upright and unloaded for safety purposes, its two operators sat with their backs against the side wall nearby, watering canteens in hand and a deck of tarot cards between the two.

"You said 'the Emperor Protects.'" Soran explained to the Guardsman beside him as he watched the street below with a pair of magnoculars – a low powered magnification device readily available to the Guardsmen. He lowered the device to look at the fellow soldier. "I was just riposting."

Desolta sent a half glare to Soran. "Do you know what that word actually means?" he asked incredulously.

Soran shrugged as he looked back to the road through his magnoculars. "Heard it on the holos – thought I'd use it." To which Desolta shrugged as he reached into his pack which lay beside him and pulled out two blue wrapped CRPs, or combat ration packets. With practised ease he lightly threw one to Soran who in a flash of skill caught it with nary a glance at it. With a grin Desolta ripped his open with his teeth as Soran turned back to the road.

"Whoa." Kravan breathed after a moment. Desolta turned to look at his friend at his position near the bipod mounted machine gun, a similar pair of magnoculars glued to his face.

"What's up?" Desolta asked as he bit off a mouthful of reprocessed meat.

Kravan was silent for a moment, his mouth working slightly but no sound exiting his moving lips. "You. Killed. My. Mother." He said after a minute.

Desolta was taken aback by the statement. "No I didn't" He returned.

Kravan pulled his eyes away from the magno's for a second to glare at his teammate and friend. "Not you idiot." He chided. "It's what the board says."

"What board." Mitchell asked as he stepped forward, his own pair of magnos coming up to his eyes.

"Crowd has boards, signs – looks like a protest." Soran answered after a moment. "Lot of 'em to."

"Sit-rep." Sergeant Mitchell barked as he pulled up his own magnoculars to his eyes.

Soran tracked his sight form left to right as Desolta snatched up his rifle, now joined with what he was told was a five times magnification scope. As Soran scanned the crowds beyond the thin line of barricades, Desolta braced his rifle against the opened-window sill with his eye peering through his scope. "Approx, five, maybe six hundred. Distance, seven-hundred and fifty yards."

"They look pissed." Kravan remarked as his hand groped toward his own lasgun.

Mitchell saw his soldier tense as they gathered near the edge of the window, many clutching their weapons. The Sergeant's attention was caught by the sound of the Heavy Stubber's breech bolt snapped back to the ready position. The Guardsmen hissed to each other as they snatched up lasguns and slapped home fresh power cells.

"Two-Bravo step up!" Corporal Razler – freshly promoted – barked to his fireteam as the young boys that made up his unit darted forward. Third Platoon had taken some casualties during the venture into the eastern tunnels, but one of the sombre perks of being stationed on your homeworld was that in case of casualties, replacements can be found form the legions of volunteers, or requisitioned from the constantly replenishing Planetary Defence Force Divisions. However, during the current state of almost emergency the planet found itself in, teetering on a knife edge between order and chaos, especially with the civilian populous up in arms nearly over the Arbites and their supposed abuse of power, not to mention the general loathing of the Governor had been catalysed by the Imperial Guard deployment. The subsequent mirror of actions all over the planet was just pouring promethium onto the problem, and all it would take was one spark to blow the situation out of all proportion.

"Stand down!" Mitchell barked to the two squads of Guardsmen. "I gave no such order to go to red-con one." He cast a hard gaze across the room. "Stand down" repeated the Sergeant. He gestured for the Guardsmen to lower their weapons. The Third squad NCO was currently at the platoon CP so Third squad was currently being run by Mitchell. The Guardsmen stopped prepping their weapons, though most of them kept their rifles at hand but didn't level them against the growing horde of civilians; the Heavy Stubber operator lowered his weapon's barrel to face the ground. Mitchell, after a moment stepped up to the window and pulled his magnoculars to his eyes, he whistled lowly as he gazed over the mass of people, he agreed with Kravan, they looked pissed.

Many of the banners bore various slogans, some anti-Imperial Guard, some anti-Arbites, some just expletives over the symbol of either organisation. Many bore the names of people, presumably relatives or friends who had died in the crossfire of the riot or Imperial Guard assault.

"Crud." The Sergeant breathed as he saw a small tide of supporters join the crowd. With a quick glance to Marty – his stomach thankfully intact after major surgery – he gestured for the black plastic vox-horn. The vox-operator dutifully passed the sergeant the small black object as the sergeant turned back to his magnoculars.

"Charlie-Three-Actual, this is Three-Two, how do you read?" The Sergeant clicked the vox on and spoke quickly as he magnified the image of the protestors.

The vox hissed static for an instant before Lieutenant Ruthann became audible. "Three-Actual here, reading loud and clear, send traffic."

"Three-Actual, Three-Two reporting multiple, estimate six zero zero plus civilian foot-mobiles, approx seven five zero yards from northern checkpoint on MSR White" The road named for one of the past Governors of the planet.

"Copy Three-Two – current situation of foot-mobiles? Current squad situation?"

"Currently holding distance and protesting – squads are observing."

The hiss returned for a moment before clearing. "Solid copy Three-Two, stay on station and observe, sound off if situation develops."

Mitchell glanced over his slightly agitated troops. "Three-Actual, request update on ROE." ROE, the Rules of Engagement, the rules dictating how, what and when the troopers of the Imperial Guard could engage targets, actively hostile or not.

"Three-Two, ROE is unchanged, fire on any hostile movement, copy Three-Two?" Ruthann replied disheartened – the Governor enforced ROE was a carte blanche for the Imperial Guard and the Planetary Defence Force for the kill anything that got in their way, for any reason. However, the bloodbath that was the Guard offensive proved to be, if not a tactical mess, it was a PR disaster, protests, riots, demonstrations – and that was just the civilians. Gangs had driven past in trucks and ground-cars, spraying the makeshift barracks with stubber fire then driving off, and that was just the start, they'd taken the opportunity of the sudden power shift to reignited the multitudes of gang wars that pot marked the underhive, during the 'night', Mitchell could hear the gunfire surrounding the plaza – thankfully none of it directed at the Guard, most of the time.

"Copy sir." Mitchell replied curtly as he handed the horn back to Marty. He mulled over it for a second before lowering his magnoculars. He glanced left and right at the Imperial Guardsmen as they watched the crowd from afar. "All right boys, hold off and observe, report if the crud gets real, I'm gonna get some hot chow" He ordered as he turned away and began to cross the floor toward the door.

"Oh." He said as he pulled open the faux-wood door, he looked over his shoulder to the Guardsmen. "For the love of the Emperor, don't rile them up. Just, watch. We don't need a blood bath."

"Yes Sergeant." Razler nodded to Mitchell as he allowed his rapidly-readied lasgun to slip onto its sling.

... ... ...

"But having a loaded bolter never hurt either." Rally hissed as he slipped forward. Andreas on his shoulder and the Detective close behind. The Interrogator, the Tech-Priest and the Cadian followed after a moment, passing from the brightly lit Hab chamber to the dank, tight corridor in the rock.

"What?" Felicia hissed as she picked through the corridor behind the armoured mass of the two Inquisitorial Bodyguards.

"You said, 'The Emperor Protects'" Rally returned without looking at the Detective. "I was just replying."

"Huh." The blonde haired Arbite replied, incredulous.

Rally trod carefully forward in a half crouch into the twisting, rough-hewn rectangle in the rock. The Catachan was slow, steady and on edge as he swept forward around a hard turn in the corridor, his bolter's luminator on a lower setting, barely highlighting the edges of the rock ahead of him while the others kept their lights on low as well, and so the group had to pat their way ahead as they left the warm embrace of the halted bolted lamps back into the cold, forbidding, descending darkness.

Felicia watched the Catachan and the Armageddon native through the visor of her carapace helmet, their armoured hulks shifting in the lightened up shadows. The Detective sent a glance over her shoulder toward the Interrogator as he pressed on after her, his bolter hoisted in one hand while the other was pressed against the wall, helping him guide his way through.

Behind Jonas was the looming figure of Charon, the silver faced Tech-Priest was finally silent as he followed flawlessly after the four, probably aided by some form of optical enhancement, some form of either night-vision or thermal imaging. Felicia grunted dismayed at the Tech-Priest's advantage as she stumbled.

"Drop ahead." Rally hissed over the vox in Felicia's helmet buzzed quietly as they continued. "About five feet."

By automatic Felicia listened to the static while still pushing on as the Ranger lowered himself down a small drop in the corridor while Andreas knelt at the top, her bolter to her shoulder. "We're are closing on the lower sink pit. Distance three-hundred metres at a descent angle of ten degrees." Charon hissed through the vox curtly.

"Feels about right." Rally grumbled back across the short-range network as he whipped his weapon back up as he touched down on the hard ground.

"Sink pit?" Andreas asked quietly as she followed Rally by carefully leaping down the five foot drop, making her armoured boots slam against the hard floor. The echo rattled around the group for an instant, causing Rally to turn harshly toward the Veteran Sergeant, hissing a harsh criticism before turning back and pressing forward again.

Felicia prepared to lower herself down the drop slowly; she holstered her bolt pistols and turned around. As she half crouched to climb down, Jonas stepped forward, his bolter hanging be his side while reaching forward toward the Detective.

"Here." Jonas grinned as he reached to help the Detective. Felicia smiled as she took the proffered hand, gently leaning backwards to step down the drop, slowly allowing the Interrogator to take up the weight of her and her armour. Gradually the Interrogator helped the woman down the drop, much to her concealed amusement. Felicia dropped down the two feet by herself, bending at the knees slightly as she landed. Quickly she turned and drew her bolt pistols again and moved away from the edge, to allow the Interrogator to descend himself.

"What's the sink pit?" Andreas asked again as Jonas climbed down the steep drop in the corridor himself.

Felicia tilted her head at the Veteran Sergeant. "I thought Armageddon was a Hive World? Their quite common on the Hive Worlds I've been too." She commented, to which Andreas turned to look over her shoulder at the Detective.

"Sorry for not being as observant as you, when I last went home, I was busy – fighting an Ork Waaagh, kind of takes up your time." Andreas bit back harshly before turning back to follow the Catachan.

"You got to go home?" Rally looked over his shoulder, sounding surprised.

Andreas looked back to the Catachan. "Remember when you guys went to Minboir?"

"Yeah? The Tau job? What about it?" The Interrogator replied as he slid up beside the Detective.

Andreas shrugged. "Inquisitor Lognus took me and Bravo team back to Armageddon to see if we could help."

"And did you?" Rally asked as he knelt, waiting for the others to join them.

The Veteran Sergeant shrugged again, "We blew up a Deathstrike Missile after a xeno warband took a supply base. Must of wiped easily a thousand Orks."

Rally chuckled quietly. "A thousand orks? Frakking nice." He breathed.

Andreas shot a look over her shoulder. "Sink pit? Info dump, now cog-boy." The Veteran Sergeant glared sharply to the Tech-Priest as he stood at the top of the drop.

Charon's optics whirred for a moment as he looked at the raven haired woman, probably accessing the information requested, but Jonas cut in ahead of him. "Their drains Wolfgang."

"Huh?"

Jonas raised his visor for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow. "We're under the primary water reclamation reservoirs. Sink pits are an emergency precaution in case of flooding, means that if the pressure in the pipes skyrockets, they can dump the tens of millions of litres of water into the pits through the crisis tunnels."

"Tunnels?" Andreas turned to the Interrogator, her voice suddenly worried. "You mean at any moment we could be drowned?"

"Whoa, no Veteran Sergeant." Felicia said placating. "Different tunnels, specifically created ones, about four hundred metres above us, I think." The Detective said with a quick glance to the Tech-Priest who nodded.

As Felicia watched, six metallic tentacles snaked eerily out from the heavy crimson robes of Charon, silhouetted menacingly in shadow, rising up beside the Tech-Priest. In a flash, the mechadendrites stabbed out, thudding heavily into the rocky walls.

Like a ghost, the silhouetted Tech-Priest raised eerily up into the musky, humid air. Like a spectre, the shadowed Charon hovered, suspended by the six lithe tentacles that were secreted around his robed form. Like a phantom, the Tech-Priest silently retracted two of the mechadendrites, one from each side, and walked them forwards. As the two latched into the hard rock, another pair detached and moved ahead and down, pulling the metal ghoul-like blackness toward the watching Detective. The near silent, pneumatic thud of the adamantium tentacles as they punched into the rough-hewn, jagged bedrock of the hive sent a shiver down Felicia's spine; she could hear the slow hiss of the Tech-Priest's optics, the crackle of his vox-caster, the slow tick as Charon manipulated his on-board auspex beneath his robe.

Felicia's sniffin sense could pick up a lot in these cramped conditions, and her years of training and decades of experience allowed her to stop those feelings from overshadowing her own, a trap of many a young psyker, but this close to Charon, his own internal feelings leaked over her, they were strange to say the least. Like water from the polar peaks, they flowed cold, like the cybernetics that encased his form. Almost tasteless, Felicia could feel the emotions of the well-disciplined Tech-Priest, his own mental control was formidable, he policed his own emotions thoroughly, but still some leaked through. Felicia could feel his unease at the current situation he found himself in, as they had shed not only the safety of the Rhino Armoured Personnel Carrier, they had pressed on beyond the required point of safe return, ordered an identifiable percentage of the team's combat proficiency to stay behind, and now they were inside the least optimal area for combat, especially against a thing like a Genestealer.

Rally looked over his shoulder as the near-silent hisses ended in a quick, definite thud as the metal weight touched down on the off-kilter floor. Charon tapped the bottom of his cog-headed staff on the rocky floor as the mechadendrites disappeared, sliding back into the heavy robes of the Tech-Priest.

"We ready to go?" The Catachan Ranger asked as Markin expertly scrambled down the drop in a few seconds.

Jonas glanced to Markin as he un-slung his bolter and nodded to the Interrogator as he took up his position at the rear of the column. The Interrogator nodded to Rally in response.

Rally turned and took off again in to the darkness. Wolfgang rose slightly to follow him. Felicia flexed her grip on her two sidearms as she rose from her half-crouch, intent on driving forward.

... ... ...

"Charon." Felicia breathed as the group trudged on for a few moments at a decent pace, the Catachan and the Armageddon native in the lead, their luminators highlighting the sharp edges that passed beside them.

The optics of the Tech-Priest whirred slightly as he looked to face the Detective. "Yes?" He asked quietly.

"How far are we from the sink pit?" She asked as she watched Rally go shoulder first through a tight turn.

The Tech-Priest clicked his vox-speaker for a second as Andreas followed the Catachan. "Roughly two-hundred metres." He returned a minute later. The Detective nodded as she heard the answer.

The group pressed on with some haste, though their speed was constrained by the rocks around them, but slowly but surely, progress was made. Felicia kept her sniffin sense as far reaching as she dared, trying to perceive what was coming ahead of them. Psychically, it felt the same as the mining hub, wet and warm yet just out of focus, like it was scratching at the edges of her mind, unnerving to the mind's touch but Felicia swallowed her revulsion, and thanked the Emperor that humans didn't create the same sensation, they just tended to be warm if anything. Her bolt pistols were heavy in her hands as they pressed forward into the enveloping shadows, heavy as the beads of sweat ran down into her gloves from her armoured forearms. She blinked another pair of beads from her eyes as she turned through a small slalom of turns in the rock.

The feeling got stronger as they pressed on, less out of focus, more smothering, hot and enveloping, a sensation helped by the tight enclosure or the rapidly increasing heat, pointed out to her as real by Markin as he swore while wiping his brow. Felicia concentrated on the Cadian voice while trying to lift the sense of oppression she was feeling, she wasn't claustrophobic, as her little jaunt in a Adeptus Astra Telepathica holding iso null-cell when she was five had taught her, but she could shirk the overwhelming presence that weighed on her mind as they progressed. She tried shaking her head to lift the feeling but it didn't help. Felicia held back her trained response to 'star', a technique drill-trained by the Adeptus Astra Telepathica for when Psykers were restrained, trapped or any other form of physical duress, to, for a brief instant, flare their psychic abilities. While sounding like a load of groxcrap – as one of the other students had put it, Felicia could attest to its ability to give a sense of freedom and general ability to calm an emotionally agitated psyker. What such an ability could do varied on the level of psyker. A low-level like Felicia would just give a psychic 'nudge' almost to anyone within about a hundred metres, the closer the stronger, Felicia had once sent her pet Larisel, one of her few comforts at the Schola Progenium, in a panic when she tried it when she was seven, she also woke virtually everyone up in the middle of the night but that was a different story. She forwent that little comfort in the name of tactical sensibility; she didn't want to blow their cover to the xeno predators that they now sought.

"Emperor." Jonas breathed a hot, humid sigh as he wiped his forehead. "Charon." He hissed to the Tech-Priest behind him. The red robed figure turned to look at the Interrogator quickly. "Are we under the heat-exchangers or something? This is unreal."

Rally chuckled from up ahead. "Cramped, uncomfortable, hunting insanely deadly beasts, and we're sweating enough to fill a lake, Emperor help me, I love this, it's just like home." The Catachan chuckled.

Wolfgang joined the point man in chuckling. "Boys got a point, this feels like being back in the manufactoriams again, expect instead of overseeing servo-arms building Leman Russ Battle Tanks, we're going after Tyranid Genestealers."

The Cadian at the rear sneered as he let loose a short laugh. "Prosan, that's what this reminds me of. Harsh Environment Training, ah I miss it some days" He laughed again.

Jonas snapped his head back and forwards. "Am I the only one who remembers the fact that we are a six-man unit going against unknown numbers of things that carve through power armour?"

"In all my years serving with the Valhallen Two-hundred and Seventy Third Regiment, I have divined a few things." Charon weighed in, his voice a harsh crackle compared to the humour filled others. "One of those observations is that those who thrive in the Guard are a species unto themselves."

"See, I knew you Guardsmen were freaks." Jonas half-laughed.

Rally laughed openly as he stopped to look back at the Interrogator. "I don't remember saying anything to the contrary." The Catachan turned back to the tunnel and continued after wiping his brow.

Jonas asked the Tech-Priest again as they started to move once more. "No." Was the answer.

"Then how?" Jonas proclaimed, "Why does it feel like we're all getting slow roasted? Pressure will do one thing, but I know we're not that far down, not yet."

Charon held the Interrogator in his optics for a moment. His speaker clicked and hissed white noise quickly as he turned over the answer in his head. The answer was short, simple, excusable, but all the while chilling. "I don't know."

... ... ...

"How far?" Wolfgang asked after a few minutes of walking after the Catachan.

Charon clicked for a second before responding. "One hundred and forty metres."

Andreas shrugged, "A metre or a mile, the Guard will take it." She repeated sardonically to herself as she idly checked the breech of her point-seven-five, machine gun crossed with a rocket propelled grenade launcher. The twenty round clip was still full, and her replacements jangled quietly as she moved. The weapon was surprisingly light, this was the Guard-issue variant, not light enough, in fact nowhere near light enough to fire any more than single fire without ending up on her ass, breaking her shoulder and forearm or missing wildly– both of which wasn't a good action in a fire fight, but it was a damn sight smaller than the Astartes carried version, those were made to withstand the harshest actions of war, fire hundreds of rounds without incident, get dropped in thick mud and grime, and still be able to bash a prospective Ork over the head with it if need be, a little like the ubiquitous lasgun if she thought about it, two weapons aptly designed for their prospective users.

She would have continued but Rally's fist shot up and the column came to a dead halt. Slowly they kneeled and waited as Rally took a tentative step forward. He glanced back to the waiting faces of Jonas, Felicia and Wolfgang, Charon being obscured with Markin behind the three. "Light source, distance twenty metres." He reported as he gestured forward.

Jonas nodded as waved the column forward, this time at a slower pace. Hesitantly they pressed on, Rally silently closing on the beams of light that revealed themselves to the group as they rounded a slight bend in the rocky hallway. The corridor seemed to terminate here as well, leading to the portal in the rock.

"Space beyond, wide." The Catachan hissed across the vox as he edged on the light source.

Jonas turned his head to the Tech-Priest, his question unspoken. Charon shook his head. They weren't at the sink-pit yet. Jonas looked back to the Catachan and nodded. Slowly Rally peeked his head around the relative safety of the rock.

"Holy Emperor." He breathed before look back to the group. "Light cover ahead, distance five metres."

Wolfgang looked to the Ranger. "Foot-mobiles?"

Rally looked to the Veteran Sergeant. "You need to see this." He said coldly.

"Ok." Jonas breathed as he passed Wolfgang, closely followed by Felicia, Jonas shot her a hard glare but she returned it, this maybe what she came down here for.

The two lined up behind the Ranger. "Lead the way Rally." Jonas breathed as he checked the breach on his own boltgun.

The Catachan nodded slowly. "Stay low." He hissed as he dropped, turning around the corner tightly.

Jonas followed suit, his weapon raised and prepared.

Felicia flexed her fingers on her bolt pistols one again in attempt to clam the dominating presence that surrounded her. She breathed a quick prayer, sucked in a long draught of hot air, dropped low, and moved.

She was met by the visage of a vast, massive break in the rock that surrounded them. Like a great circle had been carved out of the mountain. It angled in a slight slope down from the entrance that she just passed through. Down, and down it went as she looked, easily a hundred metres to a more machined-looking inner circle – not that she could see it all that well.

Rally and Jonas we're crouched by what looked to be a roughly chest height fallen piece of stone, both peering over the edge. Felicia darted over to join them, keeping low as the Ranger had recommended. As she dropped between two, she took her first proper look at what lay beyond.

Cloaked figures, normally clothed figures, some naked, some obviously mutated, some not, many openly armed. They spanned far and wide, a literal sea of bodies, all facing inwards toward a plinth, on which two figures stood. They were over a hundred metres away easily so they were minute. Jonas and Rally had retrieved their magnoculars from their webbing, both had expressions of grave seriousness.

"There must be thousands of them." Felicia said sotto voce.

"If that." Rally breathed. "Here." He uttered as he passed Felicia his magnoculars. She took them quickly as pressed her eyes to them after raising her visor.

Her waking nightmare became real.

Stood tall before a smaller man was the beast from her vision, the one stood over the dead, torn Space Marines, the Ultramarines Relena had mentioned, was stood tall here. Its four arms wide, something held in one, hanging limply, a human in red body armour. The beast's slavering jaw was wide, displaying its hideous array of needle sharp teeth. It chest was an interlocking array of carapace plates, bone white with a splattering of blood. Its hind legs, along with most of its body were heavily muscled, they looked like small, lithe packs in comparison to the human in its grip. It black eyes surveyed the crowd before it, its thin tongue darting about it opened mouth like a viper.

"The Broodlord." Jonas whispered, horrified.

"This is worse than I thought." Jonas breathed as he saw the rippling muscles as they flexed over the tight frame of the Tyranid infiltrator. Felicia shot the Interrogator a look of horror combined with sarcasm.

"I count, ten, thirteen, twenty, five..." Rally whispered as he pulled a mono-mag, a smaller, one-eyed version of the magnoculars from his webbing. "Thirty?" He breathed. His lips continued to move silently as his head jittered as he looked around. After a moment he sighed quietly. "I can't get a precise count, crud load of 'stealers, easily forty plus."

Jonas nodded as he concentrated his vision on the terrible xeno at the centre of all this. "Who's that?" Felicia breathed to the two as she continued to peer through her borrowed magnoculars.

"What?" Jonas said curtly as his head turned over, trying to wrap his head around the situation.

"The man stood in front of the big one." The Detective returned. "The guy with the staff, pan left." She instructed.

Jonas obeyed as he panned his vision the few millimetres until his vision rested on the man in question. He was still human size, but his stature was thin, he looked malnourished judging by the pale colour of his skin, his muscles looked like robes underneath his alabaster skin, a vile cross between a Genestealer and a human. In his skeletal grip was a rough-hewn construct of metal pipe work, it was as tall as him and was headed off by a circular icon. Jonas knew it instantly; it resembled the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, a crude interpretation of one of the Imperium's most valued institutions. "It's the Magus." Jonas returned after a moment. The man was bald, and his eyes were dark and imposing as he glanced over the horde of people before and around him.

"Why does he have a Telepathica staff?" Felicia questioned as she drew her sight onto the man, she restrained her sniffin sense as the sense of utter oppression crushed in around her, the hot, humid sensation wrapped around her, smothering her.

Jonas mulled an answer for a moment before flicking his gaze from the magnoculars to the Detective. "Genestealer Cults often have a Magus, a psyker to coordinate the hybrids." He looked back to the magnoculars. "They are still, in some, twisted way, human." He continued. "And the general view is that all psykers are Adeptus Astra Telepathica, and all Telepathica have the iconic staff. Ergo, looks like he made a staff."

"Huh." Felicia replied.

"That poor bastard is part of same group as the stiff in the Hab chamber." Rally uttered as he focused on the Broodlord.

Jonas pulled his view back to the human in the embrace of the near-three metre tall Tyranid. His armour was crimson like the corpse in the Hab chamber, his face was red and bloodied, slash marks criss-crossed the muscled human's face, shredding his left eye, ripping it free from the socket, leaving it hanging by a tangle of flesh and nerves. The jaw was gone, torn from its moorings presumably by a Genestealer in the frenzy of combat. The right arm was little more that shreds of meat hanging on by the few remaining tendons, the hand completely missing. The left arm was more intact, the exposed flesh covered in black, brown and reddish ink marks. "Check the tats." Rally uttered quietly. Various horrid markings, skulls and tear drops – normal stuff, but circling between was twisting scar-like letters, linking each intricate scar and tattoo. "Look familiar."

Jonas was silent for a moment, he sighed heavily. "Crud." He breathed as he looked over the markings. "We'll deal with that later." He glanced to the Ranger for a second.

"Woah, woah, woah." Felicia interrupted the two as she leaned forward. "The Gene-brood-thing, the big thing is doing something."

"Broodlord." The two corrected her as they refocused on the massive Tyranid. With wide sweeps of its head, the master of the brood glared over its congregation, with its free hand it beckoned the herd closer. Its tongue whipped about his needle teeth, with each twitch of the muscle, it spread thick spittle over the plinth and those around it. Sharply the Broodlord jerked the red-armoured corpse into the air, like a trophy won in competition, a magnificent, bloody prize. It scowled and hissed as the other milling Genestealers as they mingled about themselves, crowding near to their master. The screeches of the Tyranids echoed about the dome, reverberating off the downward stabbing stalactites menacingly around in to the ears of the Interrogator, Detective and the Bodyguards are they crouched close to the portal into the dome, weapons prepared, ready for the call from Jonas to attack, regardless of the opposition.

"Sweet Emperor." Wolfgang hissed as the screech hit the group full force.

As the three watched, the Broodlord swung the corpse about, as if displaying it to its followers."This human warrior" a voice echoed about the hall as the monster shook the red-armoured cadaver. Felicia shifted her magnoculars minutely to see the Magus gesturing grandly. "Sought to claim our lives, our skulls for his obscene cult." The Magus continued. The Broodlord took the corpse in its four armed embrace, Felicia saw as the claws punched through the scared and tattooed flesh with ease, she watched as beads of red welled and dropped, straining the exposed arms and fatigues of the already dead ganger. The right arm dangled as the massive Tyranid dug its claws into the chest and waist of the corpse, Felicia felt her chest tighten as the claws passed through the flak armour with contemptuous ease, slipping into the flesh silently and between the ribs seemingly perfectly.

Rally clenched his teeth as the Magus continued. "They failed." The Magus said resolutely, his voice carried to the three's ears by some unknown force. "Instead of our lives for their cult, they shall serve us! The Brood will take from them the strength of which they are so proud. The Brood will grow strong from their blood." And is if on cue, nine other corpses appeared as six Genestealers raised them up, each in a similar state to the one in the grip of the Broodlord, each bleeding openly from scores of wounds, one was missing his legs, another had only a mess of gore for a chest and one didn't seem quite dead, his head darting about horrified as his relatively intact body was speared by the Genestealer underneath.

"The Brood" The Magus boomed with a vile grin. "Will feed!" And with that the monsters roared.

The Broodlord, in a show of terrible, sickening strength, ripped the corpse in four in a spray of gore and innards. Blood cascaded from the torso like crimson waterfalls as the Tyranid removed the left arm with a single flex of its arms, casting it far behind him in to the baying crowd. The legs vanished just as quick, snipped in two as the hulking monster cast them wide, sending four bloodied logs of flesh, muscle and bone hurtling into the mob of outreached hands and gaping mouths.

The Genestealers beside and surrounding the Broodlord followed suit, carving the cadavers like a machine in a slaughterhouse, sending fist sized chucks, first towards their fellow xenos before sending it out into the crowd. Felicia watched in revulsion as she saw the horrific creatures peel away the flak armour and all non-organic additions before letting them fly like a catapults. Felicia lowered her magnoculars and ducked down behind the cover as she felt her stomach roil and the urge of vomit escalated with each passing second.

Jonas watched with one eye as the Detective retched and spat a few dark coloured, half-digested chucks of food before wiping her mouth with the back of her gauntlet. She breathed hard and quick to get some air back into her lungs while pulling herself back up to the lip of the cover. Jonas said nothing as she took up her magnoculars, and after a deep breath peered back through them.

The xenos were gorging. The Broodlord was chewing great mouthfuls of flesh out of the torso of the red armoured ganger, the head seemingly hanging by a few shreds of muscle after the Broodlord had chewed through the neck in a single bite. The frenzy of feeding was not limited to the lord of the brood; his subordinates joined him in the grisly feast, nothing was spared, between the hearty feast for the Genestealers and the morsels for the seemingly hundreds of followers, the hall came a roar of vicious hunger. Felicia shuddered, holding back another retch as she watched the Magus scoop up what she hoped was bicep – or at least what was left of one, and bite down hard, staining his parchment white skin red as the life juices ran free of the long dead veins and arteries.

"Saint Aniais, shield me from horror with your light." Felicia breathed a prayer taught to her during her stint in Scholastica Psykana as they battled jurisdiction over a batch of young psykers. She turned away instinctively, the hardened stomachs and hearts of the two Inquisitorial henchmen held stoic in the face of such barbarity. As Felicia covered her mouth, she turned away to look at something other than the vile banquet, she caught sight of something cast aside against one of the sides of the dome. Fatigues, dark grey, white and black, Tercian urban warfare camouflage. Shards of armour were scattered about, remains of a previous banquet. From a distance of about fifteen metres, Felicia could make out the unit markings on a discarded shoulder pad, Tercian 507th Regiment, D Company. "The mechanized troops." She whispered as the sight of the ruined armour jolted a stored memory of the Imperial Guard's report.

"What?" Rally hissed without looking away.

Felicia felt her stomach settle as she thought to the report. "Several Guardsmen were killed during the advance into the tunnel network."

Jonas flicked his gaze to the remains. "I think we know what happened to them." The Interrogator grunted quietly.

Felicia raised herself up again to the lip of the rocks, her magnoculars primed to be used. She breathed deeply as she peeked over the edge to witness the xenos. She watched as one of the smaller Genestealers devoured its meal with its slashing claws and gaping maw.

The three watched for a few more moments, trying to get a rough headcount and failing miserably. The Hybrids were surging with frenzied hunger, devouring anything they could get their hands on. "We've seen enough." The Interrogator hissed as he saw the Broodlord rear up with its jaw red and claws flexing. "Felicia." He said coldly. She turned to him, "Stay low, move." The Detective nodded as she waited a moment before darting quickly to the portal in the rock, where she was snatched by the waiting Wolfgang back in to the shadows.

"You next boss." Rally hissed to Jonas, who nodded also as he made to the welcoming embrace of the shadows. The Catachan waited a moment, observing the frenzy for a moment longer before turning, his thought a mix of the Genestealers eating and observing a Catachan Devil slaughtering a recruit platoon on his homeworld. He felt the same as he did then. "The dead are the unlucky ones." He uttered quietly as he passed into the rocky corridor.

... ... ...

"Ashe, Kasov, Dara." Jonas hissed as he pushed through to the Hab chamber. "Report."

"Yes Sergeant." The red-head returned as she watched as the group entered through the hidden passageway. "Nothing to report here, all quiet."

"Excellent." The Interrogator nodded. "We've moving out." He ordered in a near-normal speaking voice. He looked back to Markin and Rally as they exited the embrace of the tunnels. "Rally, Markin, you got us in, get us out."

The two acknowledged the order before darting forwards to the exit of the Hab chamber. Ashe moved quickly to the side of the Detective as she exited with Wolfgang behind her. "Ma'am." She started. "I had a chance to check over the ganger more thoroughly, I think with the Precinct Cogitators, I can find a match to the gang symbols, find out who perpetrated this attack." The Arbitrator reported quickly, her passion for her work bubbling over. Her expression changed. "What's wrong ma'am, why are you so pale?"

Felicia turned to look the Arbitrator fully on. The taste of her own stomach was still fresh in her mouth as she thought back to the sight of the feeding. After a moment, Felicia shook her head and gestured for Karen to proceed, which she did without questioning, though her expression didn't.

As Felicia stepped forward, she found her body stopped by the grip of the Interrogator on her arm. She looked to Jonas who had slid back his visor and rebreather. Jonas' eyes and feelings were plain to Felicia at that moment, somewhere between caring and understanding. "I was... disturbed, the first time I witnessed such a beast." He said softly out of ear shot of the others. "Do not feel ashamed, it happens to us all."

"I thought I'd seen the worst the hive could throw at me." Felicia said weakly in return.

"Hive's are human creations. Those are alien ones." The Interrogator shrugged. "The Orks are as bad, as are the Eldar."

"Who?" Felicia asked questioningly. "I know the Orks, there the bad guys in 'Home is where the War is'. Who are the Eldar?"

Jonas drooped his head for a moment. "Forget I said anything... seriously, the Inquisitor would not be best pleased." He returned in a more light tone. He turned to walk beside her as Rally and Markin blazed a trail onwards. "Wait." He said quickly. "You watch that piece of crap?" he uttered surprised.

Felicia looked at the Interrogator with a shrug. "Hey, it was either that or Attack Run, and the leading man in Home is far better looking." she returned honestly. "Both are pretty bad though I'll agree." She shrugged again. "But after a ten hour day, you'll watch any old crap." She chuckled lightly; Jonas joined her for a moment before the two returned the silent procession back through the tunnels.

The footsteps of the Inquisitorial Bodyguards and Arbites resounded up the metal walkways as they proceeded up the main shaft, the Catachan leading the way with the Cadian at the rear. Felicia stood in the middle of the group beside Ashe and Jonas. She felt a bit better the further away she got from the sink pit. She felt massively better when the oppressive presence in the psychic realm seemed to thin and dissipate as she put many, many layer of rock and plasteel between her and the Broodlord. Her breathing became easier as she closed on the exit of the mines. The sweat on her brow slowed as the temperature dropped back to what she associated with the underhive.

Dara sighed openly as he raised his visor and pulled down his rebreather. The Inquisitorial Bodyguard grumbled as he raised his bolter to cover his allotted sector, his helmet luminator danced across rock sides and plasteel girders that surrounded the group. The atmosphere that surrounded the group was tense but much less so than when the group closed on the sink pit. The Bodyguards said nothing openly, but a few choice words from Rally and Markin told him all he needed, and wanted to know. His finger rested on the trigger guard of the bolter as he pressed on, his weapon aimed form the hip as the alcoves passed the group, the luminator on the boltgun piecing the darkness as they pressed on.

Felicia tightened her grip on her pistols as her stomach twisted as her thoughts drifted to the images, the horrific scene she had witnessed. She sighed heavily, what was she going to do with what she had just scene? Hand it over part and parcel to the Inquisitor? The woman within Felicia Calamar, said yes, let the woman who had many years of experience if hunting aliens, heretics, or whatever Inquisitors did for a pastime, with unlimited amounts of resources and manpower if the holo-dramas were to be believed. But, despite the overwhelming positives to letting the Inquisitor take over, the Arbite part of her life demanded she stand strong, she had firsthand knowledge of enemy, she had a firm stake in the hive and its survival, and she wasn't one to let a lead get away from her or let a perp escape. She sighed again; it was probably too late to jump ship even if she had a choice. She had gotten in on the ground floor of this investigation and now it was heading for the high-rise.

Jonas glanced over his shoulder down the hall into the gaping maw of darkness. The creeping sensation of fear trickled up his spine. Genestealers, he hated them, but he hated hunting them more then the beast themselves. He glanced to the members of what was referred to as the alpha team, or Cobalt One, they had all seen combat before. Rally probably had experienced something close to Genestealers, the Devils of Catachan, which were hypothesized to possibly be from a previous Tyranid hive fleet. Andreas had fought the Orks, which while alien were completely different from the Tyranids. Jonas looked over to Dara, the man was a young former Guardsman from the Lycarius Imperial Guard twenty-second regiment, his dark grey and black uniform was a vast change from the heraldic white and ultramarine armour of his former regiment.

Markin was probably the second best prepared, having stood guard at the Cadian Gate for several years as a member of the Cadian Whiteshield corps before mustering off-world as part of the Cadian Two-Fifteenth Regiment, where he continued his fight against the forces of the ruinous powers. He knew what those markings on the red armoured ganger were; probably better than the rest of the others combined.

"Distance one hundred and twenty metres." Rally hissed back through the vox.

_Close_, Jonas though idly as he glanced over his shoulder. The further they got from that hellish place, the better he felt. He'd faced enough xenos over his relatively short career to cherish his time away from the lightning fast, armour shredding, two metre tall killing machines. The Interrogator watched patently as the rearguard shuffled up the path, bolter sweeping the darkness with his lance of light. The Interrogator sighed silently as he looked back, to think he passed up the party to be here. The sweat on Jonas' neck was hot and irritating as he moved, causing his tightly packed fatigues to stick to him as he pressed on. The Chastener-issue Carapace Armour designed more for protection then comfort, though he couldn't deny he'd worn worse – a set of Krieg Death Korps infantry battle dress uniforms remained unworn in his wardrobe, his first and only experience in the restrictive uniform had scarred him forever. _No wonder they prefer siege tactics_ he had though when he had worn them during an operation, _you don't need to move in them._

Jonas felt a light tap on his arm as they continued; he turned his head to see the Detective pulled in close near to him, a thing he didn't mind. "What?" he asked quietly, keeping his eyes roving back and forth with his boltgun at his hip.

Felicia glanced to Jonas. "What do we do now?" She swept her head back to check for Ashe and Kasov, they were near the rear, watching and covering Markin as he moved up behind the group.

Jonas shrugged near imperceptibly, "I don't know – that's for the Inquisitor to decide." He whispered. "But the Inquisitor won't let this lie, I can tell you that." He glanced to Felicia with a truthful look; he could see the concern in Felicia's eyes despite her well maintained tarot face. He looked back to the Catachan at the lead of the group. "We need to regroup and put together a plan."

"We." Felicia repeated sotto voce.

Jonas flashed a grin to the Detective. "Yup, we."

... ... ...

"Something is missing here." Dara murmured as he glanced up the pathway, the lighting was slightly better but it still flickered as the luminators ran toward the end of their life cycle. The grill plating shook and clanged under the boots of the Chasteners and the Arbites.

Rally shot up a raised fist, causing the group to halt immediately and lower to a crouch. "What do you see Dara." Rally hissed as he watched unerringly down the sights of his bolter into the darkness.

The Lycarian crouch-walked forward to beside the Catachan, he gestured forward toward a stain on the ground. "The Guardsman is gone." He uttered after a moment. "Look, drag marks." He pointed to a dark smear across the grey grills. "Looks like the cultists are shopping for ready meals." He remarked stoically.

Felicia had to resist hissing to the bodyguard as her sniffin sense sharpened instantly, probing the surrounding area for anything, anything at all. All she felt was the ice cold wind blow up the spines of the group.

They stayed silent for a moment, each carefully observing the surrounding shadows and grey stone with bolters on hair triggers. Charon stood tall, his auspex glowing gently as he murmured some litany of the Mechanicus. The Interrogator passed a quick command to the group in Arbites battle-sign, _Advance_. Slowly the group began to move again, the Bodyguards moving as a single cohesive unit, the other three Arbites kept pace but clearly were not part of the unsaid organic motion of the others.

Jonas watched his sector intently, his weapon firm in his gauntleted grip, changing sharply from nook to cranny with refined precision, the luminator beam snapping from one shadow to another as the team shifted together as one.

"Vox check." The Interrogator hissed as he passed by a square, blood splattered hole in the ground.

"Dara – all clear." The Lycarian returned quickly.

"Rally – clear." The Catachan responded with stern professionalism.

Next came the Cadian, "Markin - all clear in the rear."

"Kasov – no contact." The Arbite growled as his shotgun twisted left and right, covering the slivers of shadow that appeared between the beams of light of the Chasteners.

The Tech-Priest clicked and hummed quietly as his auspex scanned deep into the rock. "Charon – too much interference for a precise reading." Felicia could feel how much confidence that put into the surrounding Bodyguards.

"Ashe – negative hostile movement." The red headed Arbitrator responded calmly as her own shotgun was levelled over the shoulder of the lead scout.

"Felicia – all clear from here." The blonde haired woman replied tersely as she peered down her extended arm, down the sights of her bolt pistol while the other remained ready beside her.

"Andreas – squad is clear." The Veteran Sergeant finished as she swept the corridor behind them with her luminator.

Jonas nodded to himself as he glanced toward the front of the group as they crossed the bloody drag marks that stained the grilled floor. The Interrogator signalled the group to push on faster and they did, breaking from a circle-esque formation to a more oval one as Rally broke into a light jog with Ashe and Charon following diligently. Andreas and Markin made their way after the team, their weapons swaying heavily as they went.

Rally huffed quickly as he silently thundered up the grills, years of training and experience kept him alert and sharp even as his muscles began to warm with the onset of exhaustion. He growled some words of encouragement as he looked up the incline. _Good_ he thought as he glimpsed the stony grey blocks of plasteel protection. He voxed the distance to the rest of the team, in return he heard a sigh of relief emanate from the others. _Almost there_Rally mentally smiled.

"Keep it tight." Jonas hissed as he trod over a bloody stain on the ground, his weapon still trained on the shadows.

Slowly but surely the group closed on the plasteel entrance, the thick slabs of silver were broken ajar, allowing the pearly light of the Hive to pour through into a vast pool of salvation, an escape from the glittering jaws of the foul and numerous xeno warriors and their deranged hybrid followers.

... ... ...

"Well, so I said – let it rain, because I got fifty on this bet." Cairn recounted as he and Thall made their way through the labyrinthine precinct. Dozens and dozens of Arbites filtered past the two armoured Arbitrators, to wrapped up in their own little worlds to notice the two – much like every other day. The mood and atmosphere of the precinct was as it always was on a weekday, general calm and mildly rushed, within the safe walls of the precinct, the cold stares of the people seemed so far away, unimportant to the hundreds and hundreds of civilian Vigiles and Arbites that kept the monolithic law enforcement building running.

Thall shrugged, "I fail to see why you did in the first place?"

"Because." Cairn threw up his arms. "I was young, stupid and in need of money."

Thall sent a glance of questioning to the Arbite. "So you stood guard – for six hours – naked, while it rained."

Cairn nodded. "May I refer to the previous point of young, stupid and in need of money."

"What's changed?" Thall laughed, Cairn sent a sharp glare at his friend, which sent Thall into another giggle.

Cairn joined his friend after a moment in the joyous laugh. He distinctly remembered the look on the other students as they filtered, dreary eyed from their beds to the courtyard where they found a young, fifteen year old Cadet-in-training, with a lasgun, vox-link, no clothes and soaked to the bone. Several of the Adepta Sororitas students and Arbites stood dumbstruck, a few of the Stormtrooper Novices guffawed and at least one Commissar Cadet had to look away, her cheeks turning a rosier shade.

"I've grown." Cairn answered Thall with a devilish grin.

"An ego, maybe but."

He didn't get to finish that sentence.

He was blinded for an instant by a great, near-invincible, holy light, light that speared into his eyes like the rays of divine radiance reaching deep into his soul. As, in that instant of ambient illumination, Thall felt gravity itself raise its arms up in hail of the holy glow, releasing him in that instant from its iron grip, allowing him to lift up in the glow of the holy, to be held in the warm light.

He felt the wind rush, swirl and swarm in jubilation of the glorious brilliance, it punched against the ribcage and stomach of the Arbite, demanding the wind in his lungs as tribute, as an offering to such a powerful sight. So powerful in fact, that the Arbite, felt himself being rejected by such a divine presence, flung backwards in a hail of righteous force, in the company of a celestial roar. A deep, soul rumbling note of thunder shuddered through the Arbite as he floated, held in the all encompassing song of thunder.

... ... ...

"Thall!" A voice lingered in the eerie void as the darkness lifted slowly, pain racing up and down each ray of light that shot into the retina of the Arbite as he tried to open them, his head swimming with nausea and a heavy layer of numbness that crippled him, keeping him from lifting an arm to rub his pounding and damp-feeling head. Breathing was short and pained his lungs flat-out refusing to inflate little more than they already were.

"Thall!" The sound came again, louder, more urgent, almost panicked. With each syllable, the Arbite felt a staccato drum of a machine gun pain, riddling his screaming minescape with artillery blasts of agony. Internally he raged as his existence became one of throbbing anguish as he desperately tried to lift his head, to rise above the mire of torment that surrounded his eyes, ears and mind.

As the sound echoed again, the Arbite yanked at his mortal form, sending a crackle of lightning to dance over the nerves of his mind.

The Arbite raged in the eternal land of the mind as he pushed his control into the unresponsive appendages, praying to the Emperor that the torment would end.

Another rumble of sound rippled through the Arbite as he pulled, exerting his will into the physical realm, the sounds were chaotic, but to the Arbite, as he strained to move, could just understand the myriad noises.

"Is this one alive." A new voice shuddered the void. The Arbite roared across the mindscape in an attempt to respond.

"He's still breathing." The first voice returned. Again the Arbite roared as he reigned against the confines of his own body. "Thall." The first voice asked again. "Wake up!"

The Arbite raged as he tried to get his own body to listen to his commands as he started to hear a single, piecing note override all other sounds that filtered in from the world around him. Trapped as he was, he screamed out across the nothingness of his mind, his frustration turning the rocky landscape of his unconscious mind to rampant wildness, where spires punctured the liquid stone into the purple horizon as the Arbite pulled at his unresponsive limbs, he screamed at the words as they drifted out of focus, out of hearing, lost to the rage of emotion within the Arbite. The spire shattered in a spray of planet sized boulders, that shattered into spheres of pure energy as they collided, annihilating the liquid stone as it swirled and whirled about the spires as they cracked from top to bottom.

The Arbite roared and screamed and raged as his own body refused to move.

Slowly, like a creeping tingle that wrapped around the raging star was a feeling of cold, light, numb coldness that seeped around him, paralyzing the raging maelstrom in its throes of frustration. The boiling liquid oceans of anger cooled instantly as the feeling of numbness grew, spreading fast as the Arbite tried again to yank at his limbs.

... ... ...

"Is this one alive?" A voice questioned as Cairn crouched over his friend, a thick layer of smoke obscuring his vision; illuminated only by the faltering luminators or the flicker of fires. Cairn turned his head, a Medical-team Arbitrator in his dirty white Carapace Armour was stood, his respirator and visor obscuring his face, hanging over his shoulder was a grow-strap similar to the one that Cairn used to carry his shotgun, but instead of the slug-thrower, at the end of the strap was a large white plasteel box with the symbol of the Sanitorium, a sword with two twisting vipers on each side.

Cairn looked back to Thall, the fellow Arbite was out cold, an imprint in the wall showed where the armoured body had slammed into the wall. Though his eyes were closed, Cairn could make out the light flare of his nostrils and the muted rise of his chest with a simple touch. "He's still breathing." He answered, his voice coming with a hint of frustration and anxiety, his own head pounding hard as he tried to concentrate.

The Medical-team Arbitrator nodded dutifully as he knelt quickly beside the two, his box landing on the floor with a clang. With fast, experienced hands the Arbitrator pulled open the lid of the box, exposing the innards to the former Sniper. Vials by the dozen, several auto-injectors and what looked to be a mile or so of bandage rolled up into tight balls. Gauze pads were scattered all over the place inside, one obscuring what looked to be two bags of red plasma.

After an instant the Arbitrator reached forward to Thall, his fingers darting to his neck and his mouth. Cairn watched with worry as the Medic checked his friend's windpipe for obstruction and then on to the rest of the body for wounds with extreme speed with one hand, while the other darted back into the box, grabbing an auto-injector and a small vial of bluish liquid.

"Very shallow breathing, unconscious." The Arbitrator hissed, more to himself. "How long has he been out?" he asked forcefully as with a display of agility, the medic locked the vial into the bottom of the injector with one hand while the other pulled at Thall's underclothes around his neck to expose the jugular vein.

Cairn stopped for a second, the last few moments had felt like an age, but he forced himself to think rationally. "Less than two minutes." He answered as truthfully as he could.

The Arbitrator swore harshly. "We need to wake him up. Now." He bit hastily. "Any longer, and the brain will be starved of oxygen." The Medic informed as he prepped to press the auto-injector into the exposed flesh. "That could lead to deliberating brain damage." He hissed as the pressed the needle tip of the injector into the skin of Cairn's friend. Instantly there was a hiss and the blue vial drained. After a moment the Arbitrator pulled the injector free before quickly tossing it back into the gauze-cushioned box. "That should wake him up."

Cairn looked between the Arbitrator and Thall. "How?" He asked, "What did you just give him."

The face-masked Arbitrator glanced to Cairn, "The biggest kick start he's ever had." He looked back to the fallen Arbite. "A cocktail of Adrenaline, Satrophine, Frenzon, and a whole host of things you don't want to know."

"That'll work?" Cairn asked in return.

The Arbitrator chuckled and shrugged. "Either that or it'll blow up his heart." He noted the sudden distress on the face of the former Sniper. "It'll be fine." He retracted quickly. "This stuff is the same stuff Astartes use on their own, only slightly watered down." He looked back to the Arbite on the ground. "If it's good enough for the Emperor's Angels of Death, than it should really do a number on a less-superhuman body." He looked back to Cairn. "He'll feel like he's invincible, a noted side affect, but for the love of the Emperor, don't let him move to quickly, half, his body will still be in shut down for the next fifteen minutes."

"Right." Cairn nodded as Thall gasped.

"Emperor above." Cairn hissed as the Medical Arbitrator stood and moved away, the duties of his office still unfulfilled in the rows of others who lay on the ground. "I need some of that stuff for get me up in the morning."

"Maybe you'd get to patrols on time." Thall coughed as he pushed himself up, only to stumble and fall flat on his side again.

Cairn reached forward to help his friend sit up. "Whoa there. You hit the wall pretty hard."

Thall looked at Cairn through squinted eyes, his expression one of questions. Cairn glanced around, smoke filled their vision, and the sounds of nearby fire and the moans of the wounded filled their ears. "Explosion, no idea what though – knocked you out into the wall, I just got thrown to the ground, but I didn't hit my head."

Thall grunted something as he tried to stand. "Whoa." Cairn uttered quickly as he supported the fellow Arbite. "Slow now." Thall reached behind him to place a supporting hand against the wall, his breathing still shallow. As his marksmen-gloved hand touched the wall, he turned as he felt a depression in the wall. "Yeah." Cairn nodded. "You hit it, real hard."

"Frak." Thall whispered hoarsely. He looked back to Cairn, coughing as he did. "What happened?" he asked again.

Cairn shrugged. "Like I said, I have no idea, it hit me just like it hit you."

"And I'll hit the both of you if you don't get a move on!" A voice cut across the moaning beside the two, they twisted to see Frenius jog lightly up the hall, a group of Medical Arbitrators behind him, along with a gaggle of Menials and Vigles. "Medics – do your jobs." He ordered curtly to the group behind him as he stood. "You men." He barked as he jutted an armoured finger and four of the men in jumpsuits. "Put those fires out." He cast his gaze to the other seven or so. "The rest of you push through, rally everyone outside. Now!" He barked harshly as the group separated before wheeling back on the two Arbites, "For frak sake Thall, you look like crud." Before Thall could answer the Proctor turned his gaze to Cairn. "You see the Provost?"

"No Proctor." Cairn returned sharply.

Frenius swore as he looked about. "Ok." He said after a minute. "You two with me."

Thall coughed as he tried to stand on his own. "What happened Proctor?" he asked weakly.

Frenius shrugged, "All I got was that whatever this is hit the entire eastern wing, Dispatch seem to think it originated in the Cadet Quarters."

Cairn's eyes widened. "Frak." He whispered, he'd seen how packed those bunk-halls were.

"Accident?" Thall asked. "Promethium pipe perhaps, their always frakking around with them to fuel heaters." Thall spoke from experience, as he had done it in his Cadethood, he wasn't supposed to, but he did.

Frenius shrugged unconvincingly. "Hopefully."

Cairn raised an eyebrow against the Proctor. "Hopefully?" he stressed.

"Hopefully." Thall grunted back to the two as he wobbled. He shook his head experimentally, only to clutch the left side of his head as a shot of pain raced through his skull. "What... whoa, what do we do?"

Frenius struck the disorientated Arbite. "We regroup, Cairn, you're with me, we're going to find out what happened, and who's alive."

"Yes Proctor." Cairn said sharply, glancing to Thall as he did.

Frenius looked over Thall. "You get out of here – you're wounded."

Thall coughed as he straightened up to face the Proctor head-on, his breath ragged and his head a low rumble of pain. He shook his head defiantly. "Dazed Proctor." He corrected, he felt as if he could leap from one hive to another, but his head buzzed at him if he tried to move his head, or his eyes it seemed as they darted between the Proctor and the former sniper.

"Thall." The Proctor said, sterner than before. "Fall back."

Thall shook his head again, "Negative." To this Frenius snarled as he opened his mouth, preparing to slam down the spark of rebellion, but before he could begin the verbal rebuttal, Thall cut in ahead of him. "Article three-seventeen of the Arbite Operational Code states that, in the case of disaster within the Courthouse or any other Arbite staging area, ala the Precinct, all foot mobile Arbites are to assist in the search and rescue operations."

Cairn looked at his friend for a moment in silence along with the Proctor, who had adopted a expression of surprise. "Fine." Frenius hissed as he speared a finger toward the slightly smaller Arbite, "But your ass hits the deck and you pull back, understand."

"Yes Proctor." Thall half-barked, half-wheezed in return, and with that he turned toward the distant flames and shouts. Cairn chuckled lightly before adopting a grimmer expression as he turned toward the disaster.

... ... ...

"Respirators." The Proctor ordered as the trio pressed on at a cautious pace into the thickening smoke. He clipped his securely to his helmet as he checked behind to see the two, bare-headed so to speak, Arbites pull the elastic holding-band from one side of the respirator, around their heads before clipping the other end to the opposite side of the respirator. As they forged on through the veil of smoke and groaning men, Thall watched as he passed, a fellow arbite slumped against the wall, his head lolling back and his eyes locked to the ceiling, but, to ease his fear, Thall could see his mouth moving silently, reciting a prayer. Thall turned away and let him be. "Emperor." Frenius hissed as he passed a vigle seemingly crushed by apiece of masonry, his upper chest flattened by a rectangle of red-illuminated stone that was easily two metres across and a meter in diameter, heavy enough to smash the flak armour and ribcage of the poor bastard underneath into paste.

With each turn of their heads they saw more of this disaster, arbites, vigles, menials, people, cast aside by the wave of energy that tore through the building. The walls, normally a sterile grey and white with coloured markings of red, yellow and green, were now turning a sooty and scorched black as the flames grew in fury and viciousness, the groans of the masses droned over the crackle of the fires. Menials and vigles darted forward and around, many carrying fire-suppression equipment, spraying the yellow and orange rage as it crept forward. White-Armoured Medical Arbitrators were seemingly everywhere, but seemingly never enough for the task at hand. Shouts echoed through the halls and the vox crackled with reports or half-shouted calls for help. The chaos surrounded the three as they pushed forward through the throngs of wounded, pushing closer to the Cadet Quarters, the closer they got, the more the devastation increased. Pillars were torn from their moorings, slamming into the thin inner walls, ripping apart the Precinct from within. Illuminators were blown or desperately holding on to life, flickering weakly before dying, consigning the world around to darkness.

"Crud." Cairn whispered as he stepped over a devastated armour casket, vintage armour destroyed by flames and blasted across the floor. He followed the Proctor as he stepped through a broken portal, the force of the blast tearing the plasteel sheet door outwardly, leaving it hanging loose on a single hinge. Their original path blocked by fallen support beams.

"Musta been a big pipe." Frenius grumbled as he picked his way over a collapsed wall, slowly but surely making his way toward the Cadet Quarters, they were getting close; the heat was growing with the fury of the flames. The trio passed more than one arbite and cadet that were little more than a slap of flesh with sinister burns cocooning the exposed flesh. Cairn had to look away as he saw a young cadet slumped against a wall, as he went to investigate, he saw the deep red and brown rash that scarred the left side of the young girl's face, her short hair reduced to cinders. Cairn gagged slightly as he twisted away. He hissed a prayer as he stood.

Thall glanced around, the walls were cracked but seemingly sound, perhaps they were the reinforced walls that held up the floor above, maybe, but the piping in the walls had clearly burst, superheating the occupants of the small chamber before blowing the far door nearly off its hinges. "Chain reaction." He grumbled.

Frenius and Cairn turned to look at the half-groggy but mobile arbite. Thall jutted his chin toward the cracks in the plastering, revealing the burst pipes underneath. Cairn sighed as he stepped over a thrown-about desk to inspect the wound in the wall. Carefully he prodded and explored the fracture masonry and metal work with a half-scowl underneath his respirator – the smoke was still thick, but visibility was still holding at a good distance.

"Come on" Frenius barked by the door across from the two, his slung bolter tapping gently against his back plate, Thall darted over the detritus, his ears still hearing the nearby-crackle of flame and general moan of the living.

As the trio piled through the door, they were welcome with the sight of an intersection in the shape of a cross, a main route through this wing of the precinct, except it usually didn't have this much rubble in the centre, the ceiling had collapsed quite badly, as nearly five foot of ceremite, plasteel and wood lay in a mound ahead of the three. Lying, lightly covered in dust and a slab of ceremite the size of a desk top over his leg, was an arbite in the rubble, groaning. He was orientated downwardly, his trapped leg holding him up on the peak of the mound of rubble.

"Frak." Cairn and Frenius hissed together as they rushed forward. The man was unarmoured, and deep red stains blotched his clothes and the hard rock underneath him, gently, Thall tried to raise his head as the other two tried to pry away the heavy ceremite slab. This they did without a word to each other, all flowing as one, years and years of drills, practises, training and experience coming to the fore after decades dormant. Thall pried open one eye with his armoured gauntlet to see the hazel eye lolling about. Thall hissed to the arbite in his hands but received no response.

"Heave!" Cairn barked as he pushed on the slap, trying as he was from underneath it, while Frenius clambered up the side of the rubble mountain to try and gain some leverage, but as he threw himself backward to try to move the slab, all he did was lose his footing and slip undignified on his backside. Cairn made no joke or comment, merely try again to move the slab that trapped a fellow arbite.

Again Thall tried speaking to the arbite while Frenius rolled for his feet. Carefully Thall turned the arbite's head, the left side looked fine, mussed hair, light scraping, nothing major, but as he turned the head to the right, then he saw the problem. A wide, dark gash ran from behind and above the right ear, leading down in a jagged line. Thall pulled his hand away so see his gloved finger now damp in red blood. He swore as he gently placed the arbite's head back onto the mound of rubble, there was nothing they could do. "Dammit." Frenius grunted as he looked over the wound as Thall moved away, preparing to climb over the blockade to press on to the Cadet Quarters. "Ok arbites." The Proctor said solemnly as he followed the arbite over to the other side, Cairn following swiftly behind, "Shift into turbo – there has to be someone alive in here." He reminded through his respirator.

... ... ...

As they pushed, the fog of smoke through denser, the stench of burning promethium started to sift through the filters of the respirators, the stench was near choking as the trio kicked through into one of the many assembly halls for the cadets, they walked into a wall of heat and blinding flames. The searing heat forced them back for a moment as they entered. The three-story high walls were ablaze with licking flames, the white paint that once coated the mighty ceremite pillars turned a dark, charred black. With a look of horror, Frenius watched as the banners of the arbites, their stasis field failing them in their moment of truth, while not as ancient or venerated as the standards of the Adeptus Astartes, or as glorious or honoured as the banners of the Imperial Guard, the banners of the Adeptus Arbites were dark, grim affairs, bearing often single, simple motifs with visages depicting the guardians of law dispatching the less than righteous. Though they never flew in battle like the great colours of the militant arms of the Imperium, they were still powerful images in their own right; it pained Cairn to see the fabrics burn to cinders.

The pews were cast about like confetti, some smashed, most ablaze, the treated wood crackling and splitting across its ancient faces. The noise was akin to a thunderstorm, so loud and so vicious the sound that it wiped out virtually all other noises. Thall quickly spotted detonated promethium pipe in the ceiling, probably feeding the various heating devices that were spotted around the precinct, it had been caught up in the chain reaction, pushing a heater tank from its position high up on the wall, out into the assembled pews and pulpit. The fall may have cracked the internal casings between the fuel tank and the pilot flame – the rest was evident. To his disgust, as they pushed on, Thall could see the telltale robes of a pair of cadets near the back of the assembly hall, they were splayed, as if discarded, the curtain beside the robes had both been obliterated by flame, but also by a thrown pew careening through the red hanging. Thall turned his head away, there was nothing they could do for the couple who seemingly sought the company of each other.

Frenius and the two pressed on, trying desperately to reach the great plasteel double door at the other end, it was cracked ajar, and so they pushed on through the heat. They could feel the raging flame creep up, seemingly up the back of their legs as the stomped on at speed. Their breathing became quick and shallow as they desperately tried to suck some oxygen form the environment; the greedy flame had taken the lion share of course.

With a yell, Cairn smashed through the plasteel double door, blasting it wide as he rolled through – straight into a blazing pew on the other side. The armoured arbite slammed into heavy wooden form, stopping him dead mid-barrel. Cairn jerked himself off the burning pew with a yelp. Quickly he scrambled away for the intense heat, pushing himself a few feet away before pulling himself to his feet. As he did he surveyed the Cadet Quarter's proper.

Originally, a secondary assembly area that divided into the separate sections of the mini-complex, the largest portal was straight ahead to the vast barracks of the Cadets, to the left of the area in which Cairn now stood would go to the schola rooms and librariums, to the right, the mess halls, the armouries and firing ranges that, for some reason that seemed beyond Arbite Command and the Schola tutors, seemed infinitely more popular with the Cadets then the educational wing. On the corner between the barracks and the educational wing was a small corner office, humouredly called the med-room, otherwise, officially the Cadet Service Office, there to help with all of the Cadet's needs, supposedly.

But now the area, normally painted a neutral blue, was now sheathed in flickered red and scorched black. As he surveyed the devastation before him, Cairn sourly picked out three score bodies scattered about, some half-immolated in fiery mounds, some crushed under fallen masonry and support frames, some left crumpled by the walls – having been blasted by the concussion wave of the detonation. The roof had collapsed in the centre of the quad, creating a scattering of plasteel frames, half-melted plastics and a trio of armoured arbites across the tiled ground.

Cairn surveyed the disaster before him is a strange sense of disassociation, he felt nothing for the first instant, his mind reverting from a product of millennia of evolution, to a simple cogitator, absorbing information like a sponge, blast patterns, damage spreads, blood splatter, corpse dispersion – all things drilled into his cerebral cortex by the Schola Progenium on Perth II, the Cadet Barracks in the armoured courthouse nestled in the mountains on Illius, all overrode what remained of the part of Cairn's long abused brain that was human, to be horrified at the destruction, at the death of his friends and desolation of his home.

"Frak." He whispered as the human side of his humanity kicked in, his breath became shallow, sharp, and anxious. The heat wrapped around him like a vice grip, his throat and mouth dried in an instant as they hung open in shock, his eyes widened as they took in the scale of the devastation, the corpses, scattered left and right with no rhyme or reason, not a crime scene, no serial killer with a sick pattern, no gang slaughter of another rival gang, not even the precise battle marks of the Arbites, no, this was carnage. Torn bodies were thrown about, cadet and arbite alike were crushed under support frames, things put up to protect them, Cairn had to hold back a gag as his eyes graced a young cadet, skewered by a piece of plasteel that sheared away from the its bracket in the explosion – death was probably instantaneous.

"Emperor above, let His grace guide these noble souls to His table, let His light, pure and holy as it is, guide those who remain in their darkest hour, let His might imbue those who stand with the strength to see through this terrible night." Cairn whispered weakly. His head lowered for a moment as the feeling overwhelmed him for a moment, years of training crumbling under the sight of the destruction – why? He didn't know why, he'd seen mass graves, leftovers of gang warfare, the detritus of kill-orgies, the crescendo of inter-planetary warfare, a brief but gruesome glimpse of the Adeptus Astartes dropping to war. But despite all these harrowing experiences of the bloodshed, the weapons men unleashed on one another, the sight of a score of bodies, of men, women and cadets, destroyed, obliterated, annihilated by, by, he didn't know who, or what, or how, or why, _why_, **why**, this word repeated endlessly in his head, all of those horrific situations, all the death, all the war, it all had a reason, treason, heresy, human nature, but why all this, all obscured in smoke and fire. Cairn squeezed his eyes shut for a moment; desperately trying to rid himself of the image that he knew was so true, he pushed a hard breath from his lungs.

He heard a clatter of feet across the rockrete, half-obscured by the roaring flame. As the clatter stopped, Cairn heard the distinctive tone of Frenius cursing rapidly with little breath in between.

Cairn felt a tap against his shoulder, ripping him out of his reverie. "Gota' keep moving." Thall whispered quickly. Cairn's head lowered slightly but rose again after a moment.

The three pushed forward to the centre of the intersection. The heat was scorching; Thall could feel the hot sweat run down the back of his neck, down his back into the rear of his fatigue trousers, making each inch of his flesh clammy and sweaty. He blinked away another bead of sweat from his eyes as he looked about the destruction.

"Split up." Frenius hissed. He pointed toward the classrooms, "Thall, Schola."

"Got it." The Arbite nodded solemnly.

Frenius looked over toward Cairn. "The Rec wing." Cairn grunted his acknowledgement. "I'll take the Barracks." He turned to look at the two fully. "Stay in constant vox contact. And stay sharp, Emperor knows how much damage this area has taken."

"Yes Proctor." The two others sounded off as they turned and each sprinted toward their assigned destination, rushing with all speed and haste.

... ... ...

Thall swore to himself as he shoulder-barged through another combi-plasteel door, the heat pushed back as the plasteel folded before his armoured form. As he broke through into the classroom, he was beset immediately by a torrent of thick, acrid smoke. The respirator around his mouth dragged the remaining oxygen out of the carbon monoxide, dioxide and a whole host of other unpleasant currently airborne chemicals that made up the smoke that now circled around him.

The classroom, that could have seated nearly ninety cadets in a structure similar to an amphitheatre, was now ablaze, Thall could see a ruptured wall hissing in what seemed to be a jet of flame, presumably a broken gas main that fuelled the science labs nearby. The great circular benches and desks were coated in liquid fire, fire that devoured seemingly everything it touched, from the wooden desk tops, the hard carpet that lined the floor, and the poor bastards caught in the flame. Some slumped over desks, the fire immolating their forms, or collapsed against walls or on the floor, the fire taking them in turn. With a cursory glance, Thall caught sight of the Schola tutor, his own form a blasted, charred remain beside an emergency exit at the top of the classroom, but on the inner side, holding it open, so that his students may escape. Thall could see beyond the door, girders and support beam blocked the entrance, anyone beyond there was beyond Thall's help at the moment. He swore silently to himself as he turned away, there was no one to help here.

He barrelled back into the hall, leaving the hellish image behind as he pushed back into the scorched corridor. Thall leant against the far wall from the door, the heat rising seemingly with every other moment. He sighed as he pushed himself up once again to continue his grim search again.

His footsteps resounded through his armour to his ears, his bolter rattled against his armour as he ran down the wide corridor. His eyes darting about the burnt remains of his home as he tried to piece together just what the hell is going on. In his ear he could hear the chatter of the Medical teams and that of the other Arbites in the precinct desperately tried to help those still in peril.

Frenius caught sight of the Barrack doors as he passed a brace of offices and Training Sergeant Bunk rooms, quick investigation showing no occupants. The doors of the Barracks were slide back; their hydraulic rams failing to slam the massive plasteel blast doors close at the moment of truth. Flames flicked out of the blast doors like tongues of a hungry beast. Frenius drew to a halt as he reached the threshold of the Barracks, the innards of the hall was something else to behold.

Devastation, bunks thrown about in the sheer chaos of the explosion, some were reduced to ashes or pitiful remains of their former selves. This Barracks was as old as the precinct, the obsidian pillars had stood for millennia, now stood in flames. Red and orange bathed each and every surface. The heat pummelled the Proctor as he tried to close on the Barracks, threatening to cook him in own armour but the Proctor cared not as he pushed forward, trying to push through to the Barracks.

He roared as he gripped the edge of the great blast doors. The near-white hot metal flushing its excess heat through fabric of the glove to the Valhallan flesh underneath. He snatched his hand back as his blinked away tears and sweat, he clutched his left hand in his right for a moment, swearing under his breath as he tried to glimpse into the Barracks proper.

He could see the rolling flames as they lapped like waves across the ceremite, flowing unopposed across everything, the toppled bunks, tossed about tables, charred black corpses. He could see the blackened metal pipes like stalactites piercing the ceiling; some were pouring liquid flame onto the Barracks floor.

Frenius clicked the rune on his armour marked 'transmit'. "Dispatch!" He yelled over the roar of the flames, hoping that someone was at the other end. "Dispatch!" He yelled again, "this is Patrol-One-Three – I am inside the Cadet Barracks. Do you read me?"

"Patrol-One-Three, Dispatch here, your weak but readable – send traffic." A static-hued voice returned.

Frenius backed away from the heat slightly , slapping his right hand to his ear-pad as he did in an effort to hear the crackle ridden Dispatch. "Dispatch." He roared. "I, am, at the Cadet Barracks. How are the promethium mains still flowing?"

The static held for a moment. Frenius look about him at the burning remains of his home. The chain-reaction that had spread this destruction so far had been because of the promethium pipes that lined the precinct like arteries and veins, the reservoirs within the precinct, in their ignition and subsequent detonation had racked the precinct - surely the reservoirs had been emptied by such an explosion. Frenius knew enough about the structure of the precinct to know that the internal reservoirs of the precinct were topped up and fed by the Hive's own supply, but the sudden backflow of heat and pressure would have triggered the valves to seal shut, no promethium, either gas or liquid would flow through into the precinct now. So why were the pipes still spilling like a stuck grox?

As the answer formulated in his head, the static gave way to the voice of an operator. "Patrol-One-Three, we are unable to connect to the reserve tank's cogitators."

Frenius flinched slightly as a whip of flame lashed out at him from within the blast doors. "Say again? Reserve tanks? Why? Surely they'd be locked too?"

The response was swift, the tone of the operator a frustrated one. "Last contact from the cogitators was that the machine spirit detected a fault in the primary flow, that it was opening the tanks to maintain supply."

"Then?" Frenius asked hastily, the heat drying his breath before it left his throat.

"Then nothing Proctor. The machine spirit isn't responding." The operator sighed seemingly back down the line. "We can't seal those pipes."

Frenius slammed his left hand into the wall, an act he instantly regretted. "Dammit." He hissed, more to the idea that his house was burning to the ground and there was precious little he could do about it, rather that the agonizing pain racing up his arm. He stared for a moment into the middle distance as his head tossed about facts, possibilities, and the twisted sense of reality as it played out around him. He turned to look at the licking flames of the Barracks entrance.

He took a few steps back to witness the swirling inferno, even from his position he could see the crater carved out in the ceiling and floor, throwing chunks of rockrete and ceremite in all direction like one big frag grenade, the Proctor noted.

There was no one to save here. He thought sombrely as he turned away.

He marched away quietly, his head now silent, the heat still forcing his body to sweat like a mad man, his throat dry and eyes unfocused. He closed his eyes for a moment as he proceeded back up the corridor, taking deep hot breaths to calm himself.

He stumbled as he lingered in his mood, sending him to the floor with a hard thunk as his shoulder hit the ceremite. Frenius rolled back and to his feet expertly despite the weight of the armour. His eyes and head suddenly on alert, his right hand automatically hovering near his holstered las-pistol. Seared paint, ripped-off masonry and the ever present orange flames casting everything in a half-light filled his vision as he completed his head-height scan.

He looked to the floor to see what tripped him, a mass of black beside him, it was in a sort of scrunched up position. Tentatively Frenius reached forward with his right hand, allowing his reeling left hand some semblance of a chance to recover. As his fingers touched what looked to be a solid block of charred carbon, to his surprise, the veneer cracked and the fingers passed straight through. Soot, a layer of thick soot, Frenius corrected himself as he applied a bit of pressure as the whole mass shuddered, sending the looser layers of soot flying. But as the black coating vanished, another thing appeared.

A face, small, young, stared at Frenius, their grey eyes' staring unyieldingly into his visor, Frenius was held by this look for a moment of surprise before tearing himself away to examine what laid before him.

He gagged almost as he shook the body to clear more of the soot only to see the damage wrought on the upper half of the child. His right arm was gone, more or less; the tattered remains rested on the equally ripped apart flank, which was peppered like it had taken a frag grenade. Frenius looked to the young face, only to see that from the right-side of the neck up to the crown of his head was little more that black, charred flesh and muscle, leaving parts of the brown bone exposed for the Arbite to see.

The legs were little more that stumps as everything below the knee of the left leg, and mid-thigh on the right were gone. Blood had congealed in the intense heat, but had been seared black not long after that is Frenius was any judge, and like the face, the fire had eaten away the flesh, exposing the bone underneath, and where said bone hand splintered and fractured. Frenius cast his gaze back down the corridor, this poor boy had been thrown, probably by the concussive blast, form the Barracks to his resting place.

Frenius touched the face of the cadet with two fingers, the skin, where it was less damaged then the right side was bright pink with clear signs of second and third degree burns.

Frenius gagged again as he tried to move the head and received a sickening sound as the head slurped and squelched as half-dried blood and half-melted flesh was pulled from the hard ceremite, pulling the cheek flesh away, like well cooked meat coming off the bone, separating with sickening ease, leaving a patch of cooked flesh tearing away from the bone.

Immediately Frenius pulled away in revulsion. The taste of bile edging up his throat as he looked away as Frenius swore, his hand rested on his visor. He breathed slowly but heavily. Carefully he hoisted himself to his feet, the image still burning in his mind. Frenius turned gradually while fighting the near-overwhelming urge to vomit.

"The Emperor protects." The Proctor whispered to himself as he started to walk slowly back toward the quad.

"What the frak." Cairn hissed as he ducked underneath a dislodged girder as he pressed toward the phys-ed and firing range of the Cadet Barracks.

Carefully he picked his way through the debris as he listened to the crackling embers in the distance, the sound of the destruction of his home ringed in his ears as his head tossed and turned the events of the last few minutes around in his head, his eyes were glazed over in thought as his body picked through the smouldering ruins on his way to a secondary central area that branched into the smaller wings of the barracks. The stench of boiling blood and scorched flesh lingered in the embers of the charred fal-wood frames and half-melted plasteel support beams; they haunted his steps and nostrils like ghosts.

Carefully the Arbite pressed on, passing slain arbites and cadets with little more than a prayer whispered under his breath, sometimes so quiet he was unsure he'd even said them at all.

Cairn could feel the strength sap from him as he pressed in-between shattered pillars; even wall-faces had collapsed from the attack. It was an attack, Cairn was sure, no mere accident could cause this, this level of devastation, this level of murder, this atrocity, but how? The why, the pressing question of past tense was discarded in favour of the pressing present tense question, how? How did one of the most heavily defended places on the planet, save perhaps Governor's Palace and the Armoured Courthouse a continent away, get hit like this, so hard, so fast. The sniper-turned-patrolman threw this question about the mental battleground of his mind as he tried to make sense of the evidence before him; he was no tech-lab or forensic scrub, he just walked a beat for Emperor's sake, he didn't work on things like this, it never formed a part of his daily life.

He swore as he approached the less ornate doors that lead to the smaller quad area. The doors were bent, twisted on their frames. Cairn didn't slow, time was of the essence. In fact, he sped up, his face a mask of rage and his throat giving voice to a roar of frustration and anger, as he came on top of the plasteel double-door, he twisted his body to bring his armoured shoulder forward.

The shock reverberated through the shoulder plate through to the arbite underneath as his accelerated mass slammed against stationary door. The resulting impact sent Cairn sprawling to the floor once against as the doors opened wide for the raging grox-of-an-arbite. Immediately Cairn recovered, his head snapping left and right, his feet scrambling him forward, into a seemingly solid wall of smoke.

"Emperor above." Cairn swore as he stumbled into the thicket of smoke.

The Arbite grunted as he pushed his way forward, the crackle of the nearby fires echoed around him as he desperately tried to breath, his respirator almost taxed to its limit.

The smoke was illuminated, not by overhead luminator like the rest of the compound, instead replaced by a large hexangular skylight that loomed above Cairn by nearly one hundred metres, allowing 'natural' light to seep into all levels of the cadet training wing. Around him he could see the detritus and destroyed masonry that carpeted the quad.

He grunted and coughed as he pushed onwards through the smoke, fire and rubble. His every step landing on seemingly uneven ground, his every breath feeling like it was burning his nose, throat and lungs with the stench of copper and ash.

His armour felt heavy, not just with sweat, soot and ash, but with exhaustion, this ordeal had lasted only an hour, two – he didn't know, but for him it felt like an age had crawled by, moment by moment, instant by instant, each played to their full as he looked with cold eyes at the dead, the dying and the devastation, with each passing instance, with each glimpse of the destruction, his eye's wanted to weep, his knee's wanted to fold, to collapse under the horror and death, but with each instance, each moment of doubt, the image of that symbol, the balance in the gauntlet, the symbol of the Imperium's Adeptus Arbites, loomed over every thought, the words of vaunted tome, the Book of Judgment, echoed from centuries, millennia past through to him, holding him, reinforcing him, ordering him and ultimately, helping him to stand. Backed by such power, by the word of the God-Emperor Himself, how could he fall? How could he fail? How could he not only disgrace himself, but every man and woman who wore the badge, so no, he did not collapse, he did not weep, there would be time for that later, but now, his brothers, sister, comrades needed him to be strong in the face of adversity.

"Interstellar cowboys." Cairn grinned weakly, recalling a line from his favourite holo-vid, 'Days of Judgement', a rather gory depiction of planetary warfare, of civil and cultural upheaval, with a dash of Arbites and a rather grim, if somewhat awesome ending involving Space Marines and Imperial Guard having to slaughter most of a hive in what amounted to forty minutes of the film crew throwing buckets of gore at the camera. Supposedly it was a true story, but Cairn could tell from experience, they toned back the gore for the film, Lasguns don't leave tiny little burn marks and frag grenades don't just turn shirt's red. _They got bolters down though_, Cairn thought idly as he vaunted a ruined stand, presumably a news pillar.

Cairn landed with a _thud_, his armoured boots slamming against the ceremite heavily as he looked about, the smoke swirling in the cross-wind coming from somewhere. "Crud." He hissed as he stepped into the embers of a faltering flame, sending a whirl of sparks around his leg. "Crud, crud, crud." The Arbite hissed as he hopped out of the fire, shaking his legs furiously to rid himself of the sticking embers.

With another _thud_Cairn fell to the ground beside a heap of rubble, his back slamming into the masonry losing a small rain of chips. Cairn rocked himself forward to his feet as he groaned again.

As he stood there was a yelp of agony that rang around the Arbite sending Cairn into a brief panic. The Arbite stumbled back as his eyes darted around, and down to a smoke hidden form. Another groan rippled through the laden air.

Cairn swore as he dropped to one knee as he tried to peer through the smoke, dropping below the swirling clouds of thick, acrid smoke. There Cairn saw the black of the arbite.

"Emperor above, I thought I'd never find anyone alive in here." Cairn breathed with a smile hidden by his respirator.

The figure groaned slightly in return, but the groan became a splutter of coughs, each one _sounding_painful, as they were dry and hoarse in tone and tune. Cairn batted at the lingering fog to allow himself a better view of the fellow arbite. The grey-white-black melange of miasma swirled around his opened hand as he tried futilely.

"Can't... breath." The figure whispered weakly as Cairn slowed his useless flailing. Another flurry of dry coughs followed, this time at length.

Cairn lowered himself a bit more, attempting to get a clear view of the figure below him.

"Farrell!" He exclaimed as the friendly face reared its way through the smoke, his usually smiling, or smirking mouth was instead locked in a expression of pain, streaks of deep red blood lined his face and teeth, mixing disgustingly with what looked to be bile and phlegm. His lips, top and bottom, were busted and swelled. His cheeks were streaked with faded tear, dust and blood splatter. His right eye had swelled closed and his nose was busted wide open, with two runnels of dark crimson staining his lightly shaved beard.

"Farrell." Cairn breathed quietly. In return Farrell gasped as his arm thrashed about, the bloodied liquids disrupting his vision. Cairn looked over his friend. Half a pillar was lain across his stomach and Cairn couldn't see Farrell's legs beneath the rubble. "Frak." He hissed.

"Cairn?" Farrell coughed harshly as he tried to concentrate on the blurry figure above him.

Farrell coughed again, each one a stab to Cairn's ear, who was having a hard enough time seeing his friend as he was having breathing.

Farrell hocked up a lump of foul looking gunk from his throat as he tried to move, only to flop uselessly. Cairn looked away, his eyes aching with sympathy, releasing a long, tired sigh as he glanced away from the torn and bloodied face of a friend of several years. As he did he glassed upon a horrifying sight.

The rubble, of which he had so easily bumped into, looked to be solid rockrete and ceremite blocks and shards, which seemed to come to rest over the abdomen and waist of the arbite. "Oh crud." He whispered as he peered forward and his stomach turned as he saw the extent of the damage. The plasteel carapace armour that was wrapped around the lower torso of Farrell was bent about the internals of the suit, namely the human, however the former sniper could see the armour bent about around the internal 'superstructure' of the armour, the framework that the armoured plates attached too at construction, was holding up to the strain. However as Cairn turned to the pelvis armour, the seemingly fleeting hope was crushed, literally. The heavy, massive blocks of ceremite and rockrete had impacted the legs and hip armour, and horrifically, carapace armour didn't have such a reliable superstructure all the way through the design. Farrell's pelvis was utterly crushed, the black plate snapped and faltered in its moment of truth. Cairn had to stare at the floor for a moment as he held down the urge to dry heave as he saw the runnels of blood trickle out into a small pool about the left armpit of the mortally wounded arbite.

"Hey." Farrell coughed, catching Cairn's attention, with the painful sound. The arbite turned back to his friend. Cairn looked into the eyes of the wounded lawman, or the one that wasn't healed over. The split and busted lips of the arbite twisted into a parody of a smile. "Don't suppose you could" – cough – "loosen the straps on my chest, its feelin' a bit tight, can't breathe."

Cairn coughed out his own chuckle as his eye started to fill with tears. His looked toward the ground as he fought to stop himself from laughing at the absurdity, the extreme horror of it all. Cairn held the stupor for a moment before Farrell pulled him out of it with another wretch and the painful barks that he made in place of a cough. With each gasp, Cairn watched as Farrell drew in more of the acrid smoke.

As the smoke swirled about the bloodied mouth of the fallen arbite, Cairn felt tears in his eyes. He blinked rapidly as he turned his head for some way to help, his attempt at optimism crushed as he looked about the quad, seeing only the thick smoke illuminated by the skylight.

_Heat rises._ Cairn thought in a hurry as he glanced at the devastation. _Heat rises._He thought again as he whipped his head around to see if there was any discernable movement in the smoke at all.

The light, instead of illuminating any possible assistance, instead obscured all means of, anything; Cairn could see little more than five metres or so before he was blinded by the white wall of swirling smoke.

_Heat rises and I'm stuck in a frakking flaming hurricane._Cairn lamented as he slammed his fist against the ground. Cairn looked back to Farrell who was lolling his head back and forth as his body clung on for dear life, his each breath followed by a hoarse, harsh hack. If it weren't for the Emperor-damned light he would...

Cairn stopped himself mid-thought. What followed was powered not by thought, or by any discernable mental process that the human mind inside of Cairn could understand before he enacted it, what happened was something engrained by the years of brutal training of the Adeptus Arbites, to act, not react in times of peril, to do, not to think in times of danger. With a lightning flash of his hand to his right thigh holster, the arbite snatched at the handle of his trusty, if somewhat worn standard arbite issue laser pistol. The weapon was light in his hard grip; of course it was, unlike the heavy plasteel of the boltgun or even his old companion, the Mars Pattern M55 Rifle, or sniper rifle, the Laspistol was made of a slim plasteel core and barrel with moulded plastic wrapping forming the distinctive shape of the ubiquitous weapon. With a fast snap and twist of his arm and body, the arbite turned the firearm to the sky, toward the blinding light. In an instant of correction, the trigger clicked back, and the weapon kicked in his hand.

A single thin, red line cut through the thick smoke, piercing the obscuring fog, stretching toward the skylight, crossing the distance in a single microsecond, from the barrel of the gun to the glass far above the two, in a flash the multi layered glass shattered, but held firm. The second and third shots blasted the glass apart in a spray of fragments and chips of smelted glass.

As the crashing noise rang through the quad, Cairn turned sharply and threw himself over the wounded body of his friend, sheltering him with his own bulk.

Like rain the shards came cascading down, nearly thirty feet of layered glass – reduced to little more than millimetre sized chips and six inch shards came crashing down around the two.

As the sheets of glass smashed into the fire blackened ground around the two, the smoke swirled again, this time it plumed up, expanding outward with the infusion of air from the hive proper.

Cairn felt the swift, hard, impacts against his back plate as he covered Farrell's face and upper torso with his own. Each thud sent shocks through the heat-abused body of the arbite, each impact was like a punch that was felt through to his gut, and each blow forced the wind from his lungs.

"Crud." Cairn hissed with each impact, each shudder.

Farrell groaned as glass shattered around him, crashing in a sharp crescendo of chaotic noise, a cacophony of falling slivers of silvery shards. He hacked again as he felt Cairn shudder as he laid his body on top of his already constricted chest.

Cairn flicked his gaze about despite the razor sharp shards bouncing, scraping off his black back plate, and was somewhat glad to see that the abominable haze that hid the world from him. Cairn whispered a short prayer of thanks as the choking smoke thinned and thinned.

"What's... with" – cough – "the... rain?" Farrell hacked harshly. "You, start, singing... or somethin'" The arbite smiled bloodily. "'Cus, it seems, to be raining."

"Raining arma-glass maybe." Cairn grunted as he raised himself to his knees as the last of the glass shattered on the ground.

"Not... terribly armoured, is, it?" Farrell coughed with a broken smirk.

Cairn breathed deeply as he rested for a moment, scanning the surroundings now the smoke had cleared.

The vista was not unlike the other he had seen in the devastated portion of the precinct. Fire burned, sending pillars of grey smoke up into the newly cleared air, all funnelling toward the now opened skylight. The rubble was piled low but thick; several supporting pillars had crumbled and spread out like a frag grenade, demolishing walls with a spray of multi-hundred kilo sized fragments. Cairn could see into nearly a dozen side rooms thanks to the destruction, and the gruesome remains of the poor souls inside. While the force of the explosion would be enough to shatter the pillars, blow out massive sections of the corridors and various halls, caused secondary detonations in virtually every subsystem in the Cadet Barracks before being locked off in the vacuum valves that sealed off the main body from the smaller extremities of the precinct.

"How's... it, looking..." Farrell hissed in between spitting crimson blood. Cairn looked to the fellow arbite for a moment before returning to the vista of destruction.

Cairn sighed heavily as he glanced about. "You want the truth?"

Farrell returned a light, if pained chuckle, "A, convenient... false... hood, will suffice."

Cairn cycled through a range of facial expressions, amusement, to mild frustration and contemplation, before glancing back to Farrell. "Well, you always said you thought this place would be better 'open-plan'."

For the remark Cairn received a pained laugh. "That, good, then?"

Cairn nodded slowly. "Yeah, that good." He looked over the clearer picture of the battered, bruised and broken arbite. Cairn wasn't sure if he preferred the more hidden picture.

"Still the, lady killer, huh?" Farrell grinned weakly. Cairn said nothing for a moment as he looked into the pained eyes of the arbite, his expression sullen and miserable. Cairn could feel the tears want to burst forth but he held them still with a thought. Cairn nodded weakly as he tried to smile.

Cairn nodded again after a silent moment before saying anything. "Yeah." He said dryly, "Chicks dig the roughed up hero." He smiled weakly for a moment before nervously sucking his lips, "Rugged, yeah, that's what I'd say."

"Cairn."

"Roffain will have you back on your feet in no time." Cairn quickly lied, his head dipping a little.

"Cairn."

"You'd need some bed rest, but with your new scars and stories, I'm sure you could find a few free beds, with some company with little effort." Cairn continued nervously.

"Cairn!"

The hard bark snapped Cairn from his mumble of conscious thought. Cairn locked his eyes to the fallen arbite only to meet Farrell's bloodshot eye. "Farrell." The blonde arbite whispered.

"I'm dead." Farrell wheezed. "I ain't gonna die like a... a..."

Cairn dipped his head slightly before raising his head to look at Farrell again.

Ferrell's eye darted to the laspistol in Cairn's grip. "Do it, get it over with." He rested his head back and stared aimlessly into the ceiling. "It's, getting, hard... to, talk, to breath."

Cairn closed his eyes for a minute, breathing deep as he did, trying to piece together what was going on. He tensed his grip on the handle and felt it shake in his palm.

"I'm, not gonna... die like, a bitch." Farrell coughed violently. "I'm not gonna; suffocate on my own... blood." Cairn whispered something under his breath, shaking his head slowly as he did. "Just do it... Cairn, please."

"But, Doc Roffain could." Cairn started to reply weakly.

Farrell twisted his head to the fellow arbite. "Cairn." He coughed harshly. "My... lower half... is crushed" he spluttered. "I, will, not, survive, for the, doc, to get, here."

Cairn looked silently at Farrell for a moment, looking into his half-opened bloodshot eye. His mouth moved quickly but no sound came from his throat, his mind became a whirlwind of emotion, thoughts and discipline. Each vying for some semblance of control as he stared into that pleading eye. As he stared, he could see the pain flicker across Farrell's face. He was right; he'd be dead long before a medical team could reach him, and what if they could? What could they do for him, being somewhat lucid was a miracle in its own right, by all right he should have died from shock and blood loss, Cairn mentally recited a prayer but the fact remained, a medical team would be able to little. Ultimately, Farrell would die a rather agonizing death. Cairn sighed heavily as the play-by-play ran over in his mind. At best, Farrell would live as a cripple at best.

Slowly, but surely the arbite brought the laspistol about, the chaos of his mind giving way to the reason of the seasoned arbite underneath. With a few easy movements Cairn brought himself alongside the fallen arbite, his eyes connected with the eye of Farrell for a moment, a subtle nod crossed between the two, he knew what was about to happen as much Cairn did. Carefully the former sniper brought the laspistol to rest alongside Farrell's head, who returned to staring at the ceiling. Cairn licked his dust covered lips as gently placed the weapon on the ground for a moment. As he did he straightened his back and brought his arms to his chest. He interlocked his finger at the thumbs and spread his fingers, planting the palms on his chest, over his black arbite carapace. He sucked deep three long draughts of heat and dust laden air as he looked forward, staring into the distance, his mind on other things.

Farrell coughed as he tried to move his own arms, but slowly, if painfully, the arbite fashioned a bloody sign of the Aquila over his own chest. "Although your body is broken, although your blood pours away, although your time is about to end, the Immortal Emperor will greet you, and embrace you with His holy aura, if only you, Colm Farrell, Arbitrator of the Adeptus Arbites, remain constant to Him, through this time of torment." Cairn repeated cleaner then he had ever said any prayer before, his eyes twitched with his own internal torment, but his lips remained steady in the face of his duty to a fellow arbite.

Colm coughed bitterly as he tried to breathe deeply. "Sweet, God-Emperor, forgive... Your servant, his sins, and remember, I am... just a man."

Cairn dipped his head as he heard the prayer of forgiveness come from the dying man. He took a deep breath as Farrell finished his last rites. Cairn murmured his own rites as he closed his eyes and sighed respectfully as he reached forward to take up his laspistol. He opened his eyes to look over the black plated weapon, every mould line, every scrape and each fleck of lost paint were etched into Cairn's memory by now, he'd rebuilt and cleaned this weapon for far longer than the regulations required, by all right he should have handed it in and received a newer, if identical model, but he had hung on to this weapon, after his now gone sniper rifle it was probably his most prized possession. It had saved his life more than once, and rendered judgement many more times, ganger, traitor, heretic, he had delivered justice to them all, but never to a friend.

He turned the weapon over in his grip, examining like one would examine an artefact of old, the action pointless save for the attempt to quash the sickening feeling flowing up through his stomach.

He swallowed hard as he turned to the prostrate Farrell. He caught is bloodied eye for a moment, he received a silent nod in return. Cairn swallowed again as he lowered the weapon beside Farrell's head, the barrel poised to strike just above his ear and into his brain.

"Emperor, give me strength to carry out the deed, and brother, grant me forgiveness for what I am about to do. The End will be swift, and the Eternal gates swing wide for you. Your duty is done; and now I must do mine." Cairn recited clearly, his hand steady, his eyes set.

Cairn held for a moment as he tensed his finger on the trigger of the weapon. Farrell glanced to him for a moment before resting to stare unfocused toward the artificial sky.

"Any last wishes, words or rites?" Cairn asked softly in comparison to the hard tone he took with the Rites a moment before. He watched as Farrell maintained his focus on nothing, his head unmoving.

Eventually Farrell spoke; his words were slow and well chosen, saving what breath and time he had left. Cairn dutifully committed each to memory, family, a name that Cairn himself had almost forgotten he also possessed. Lastly Farrell turned slightly to look at Cairn directly.

"And... Cairn, look after yourself, you, and Thall... Davies will need a, new, tutor." The wounded arbite finished.

Cairn slowly nodded, holding his head lowered for a moment before bringing it back up. "I will." He promised inwardly. Farrell nodded as he turned back, prepared to face the end.

Cairn swallowed hard as he mentally prepared himself again. He looked at the bloodied face of his friend and his heart felt a wound puncture it hard walls. He wanted, underneath all the training and hardening, to laugh, or weep at the tragedy that had befallen them. He could find the heart to tell the Arbitrator before him that his student was most likely dead, tell him that everything was so frakked up, he just couldn't. "Just been a bad month eh?" he whispered quietly.

"Yeah, a bad, month." Farrell smiled weakly.

Then the lightning-like crack echoed through the hall.


End file.
